Drop out. Repress. Dig in. Regress
I'm purging friends and backing out
Left alone in your post mourning doubt
I never kept in touch because i couldn't bear the thought
of the mal-de-mer inside your head that couldn't be un bought
Drop out. Repress. Dig in . Repress.
Shut in. Eat pills. Feel worth in your own reflection.

I'm eating my own words and begging with lies
Circumventing reason for another month of trudging onward
Hard truth. Impoverished youth
Trading empty jars for empty promises and deeper ulcers
Can't buy myself out. can't ever escape
I'm just another slave bound to a fucking stick
I'm pushing my hands deeper into the mud
When they say it's hard all over, it's the fucking truth
I'm weeping into the gutter
I see the ladder and fucking shudder
If you work to the bone for fifty more years
the pension puts a stall to all your deepest fears
Hard truth. impoverished youth.
Trading empty jars for empty promises and deeper ulcers
Can't buy myself out. can't ever escape
I'm just another slave bound to a fucking stick
The doors aren't open. they're rusted shut
The way is closed. the path is gone.
I'm relenting to the corporate drone
Pushing my nose to the motherfucking grindstone
Splinters upon splinters
Wedging in deep
I try to pull them out with my worn down teeth
My periphery is narrowed like a god damned mule
Workhorse of the wicked, of the trite and cruel
I'm relenting to the drone
The endless drone

The marriage bed is burning,
and I don't hear anything at all.
My diction is failing,
the seams are splitting open on everything that we knew.
Disgust and distain pirouette in violent coitus.
Emotive backlash. Shit titan stressor. Erode me.
My own ceaseless thought, pedaling in circles.
There are no walls that can contain
the bleak doubt that rests inside of us.
I can smell the mantle burning,
the wood is screaming and splitting open.
The white mare isn't leading me anywhere,
ash and soot is all that i have left.

Contention. Eyes listless in the swell of aging flesh,
constantly haunted by reflections of the life you could never lead.
You're not climbing any ladder. You're binding in forevermore.
There are woodworms eating through
everything that defines you as you.
There are holes in every aspect of your current being,
it's a failing institution and a lack of egress.
Now you move more like a spider, bound like a filthy rat.
At the end of this road, you will find nothing.
I can see it and I can feel it. Loosening the hinges on reality.

The head bows and breaks,
leading me in dark circles.
There was an opus we used to sing,
of which my maladroit throat can no longer bring.
The white mare. She follows me still.
The head bows and breaks.
The pain comes deep. Fuck the pain right back.
Leading me in dark circles forever.

Eyes leering inward. Looking back on all that was.
What was will be. What was there will never be again.
Human conditioning has led me down the wrong path.
Death is not a door. Time is not a window.
Let go. Release from this torment.
It's almost four in the morning, I can never sleep.
There's a light in my room and a light on the street.
There's a wash of color, intangible still.
I'm struggling with the memories that the present cannot fill.
My open mouth is full of dregs,
I'm swallowing the years and its breaking my legs.
Can't move on, the river banks swell.
The eyes convey the reason that the tongue could never tell.
Let go. Release from this torment.
Numb your mind.

Everyone gets lost in the wilderness sometimes,
but these woods are turning to brick and grime.
Try thinking of life existing outside.
A sky that isn't filled with steel and plaster.
Day in. Day out. Day in. Day out.
These animals have only base desires,
after being stripped of their spirit and fire.
Their rotting bones and their gaping jaws,
they're weeping alone in the bathroom stalls.
I can't help but blend into this institution,
so far gone in this industrial revolution.
Ambition erodes down to basic needs.
Gone are the days of my existential greed.
These aching joints all blend into machinery,
endless tension compounding my humility.
I know they only think of me as another failing product line.
Day in. Day out. Day in. Day out.

"We have each other"
Vulgar fictions of a callow iris.
Purpose is lost.
Heat rises and the foundation looms.
Humidity will swallow the domicile and the ties that bind.
and roots of Earth will consume my home,
under the lonely moon,
and the stars that will never have any memory of us.
The stone will crack,
the windows will splinter under the weight of time.
and as the bed burns,
our tongues and hands will be reclaimed by dirt.
and roots of earth will consume our home.

Corroded enamel and worn out knees.
the distance from waking to dying
As they walk they whisper to the Earth,
whispering the riddles of jackals.
"Here are my children, I have nothing more to give"
Constellations forming on their frames
There are whispers inside their cells,
begging to be set free.
Feed the old to the dirt.
Feed the dirt to the dogs.
The air is pregnant with the empty carapace of all thats left.
The empty carapace of all thats left.

The wheels of this machine will continue to roll forward,
because individual choice is but illusion and farce.
Reality is subjective, there is no truth.
We are pressing feet into a soil that will never leave a trace.
Bring nothing. Take nothing.
Born as sheep. Die as sheep.
You are trapped by the world
that has surrounded and engulfed you.
We are cogs in this beast until the day we rot.
It's a grid of mass delusion that you'll never escape.
We are pressing feet into a soil that will never leave a trace.
Born as sheep. We die as sheep.