Am I going to implode or explode?
The stations are dangling on the carrot
left broken by the Orange faced man himself.
Am I going implode or explode?
The students are scuffling through the door
screaming because they want to be boss,
there's shade being thrown
and my patience gets shot.
What suffering? What anxiety?
Our schools, our lives are just suppose to hinge
on the manifesting mode of survival,
not enrichment.
What is this shit I'm drinking?
I have a choice to envision the best
of all possible worlds.
I used to know a girl who would say,
"If there was any reality in the eleventh dimension
this plane of existence that's supposedly real, then
this is the best option out of them all."
She was right, it's what I... amCreating have CREATED.
Am I going to implode or explode with the best of all
possible visions?
Shouldn't I try to make space and draw with pastels
the gorgeous tones that could smudge my future
into my history?
Don't I have a duty to myself to spell out the details
I know could spawn in a saucey pool of happiness?
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