i can taste my ego dying
i taste neural sheaths burning away
(as present instance is incompatible with past experience)
who i am is only who i've became
the me needs slain for the now to live free
i swear, i can literally taste it
when stress finds NO release through action
because the action is not mine to take
the contained energy implodes to destroy it's own bridge to existence
i can taste my ego dying as i am cornered by hopelessness
hope is a parasite on the body of expectation
expectation can bind and gag and blind
the old me must die
to give birth to the full potential of this moment
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we are psychotic. we are artists. we are many.
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