Synaptic Sync

The synapse of treason leads me astray, why does my mongol mentality lead me this way. For I have left the path of reason to find the leaps of soulless lesion.

To the depths of wander I wonder, into the listless abyss of concern. Is there truth in this endless road, or do I walk into the vast empty mode of levels.

Player 1, are you ready? Player 2, are you ready? Fight. Fighting for the path of sanity which is of no real concern in our pseudo reality. One of many we are composed, in this game do we find ourselves hosed.

Shoot first and I shoot last, blending the minute areas of illumination away from the past. Is the sober air away from the pain, or is the feeling of nothing in existence to gain.

For we are the players, we are the lovers, we are the depth and the shallow, but wherever you go I will follow.

Dog-ma(r)

The entry is fastened, through the panel you peer wondering what could have been. I fraudulently loved her so and there she thrives forward in reverie. Gray clouds highlight your monochrome banter, confused self-tales of fervor and lust, are you still wagging ferociously for admission?

Hungry and molested, the remains poke through, no tricks or treats to salvation. The ownerless abuse is at your hand, securing your own tie-out chain of life’s mishandling. Gnawing and tugging for your freedom, why do they(I) abandon and mistreat me.

In the corner you lie, waiting for emancipation. As the years pass, instinctively chewing at them(I) to breach life’s kennel. It’s draining being their(my) punching bag year after year.

Wag the dog to your misled beliefs. Capture is but a fantasy. I too wish for your clarity, dejectedly there is no 88mph in this tragedy.