the prison of existence

trying to find a solution I ended up holding a meeting all the demons in my head screaming in unison all the coherence in my thoughts fleeting

attempting to find the correct rhyme my writing slips its prime

writing my thoughts down I end up always feeling like a clown

may a spectacle be what my life is may my need to write finally cease when curtains fall and this ends then my soul stop being what it pretends

a slave I am as all are so why find this bizarre? probably its not so much so but definitely is killing my soul

as explaining, portraying, presenting and being is jut a state that we shouldn’t hold as dime, crime and rhyme are just ways our souls are sold

maybe because this language isn’t mine it feels like walking in a mine field or perhaps exactly because of this I can use my incoherence in this as shield

I don’t want to be held accountable for any thought of mine that you may see I don’t want to hold myself presentable for I don’t know if in the future I’ll be

but for as long as I am, my character I’ll still play and while the words in the script make sense, them I’ll say

rhyming is tiring, but the truth is that I like it but its a shame that with sound likeness is the only way people recognize

I’m running out of ideas so sadly I must end and ending I don’t know how to that I can’t pretend

my conclusions are short, my thanks even more I think this is the end, lets hope many more are in store