A rebel without a clue.

It is now; I turn the body over to the spirit, entirely. The body is worn numb within the ego's demands. What is its purpose pushing everyone through a trillion distracted trials? Watch it effect afflictions on the eternal. It betrays the everlasting in its need for our piles dead. It couldn't be on the side of the sinless as it tells you that you are guilty of faults in all ways; you're responsible for all the errors and you can never ever say 'I am sorry'.

We will never reach the sun. As we sit, stand or stride, away and towards, it just watches us trying to grasp it closer; clinging to its bold presence for eternal warmth. "It is three am, Tuesday morning Lying wide awake and Knowing what is wrong. Why we are always waiting? Not wanting to be held fast, Unable to be a patient, In-line, to allow this willingly. And to be played by the machine Whose Stubborn fingers Stabbing down Strike a discordant key, with Some airs throughout Spaced by mental disorder Slipped phrase, some suggestions To attend. Run water Down to boil the kettle And hold steady to Assam. Silently, quietly, as a tombstone Sleep will return again, But for now considering more Than merely hanging on. For whom? The place has been reserved Where a seat hastily emptied, Only temporarily, But it has been developed Out of dissatisfaction Struggling to sit still Struck by how sinister It is to be enveloped, while Always restl...