Swallowing my mistakes caused indigestion
Hungers prescription a spoonful of ascension
Came to a fork and chose no direction
Following no guidelines decimating skylines
Smashed fates hand erasing all timelines
The shovel of my spirit will bury old spectres
Working class hero tracked by bill collectors
Blue collar up with a grimace of hope
I condemn these mirrors to release the smoke
Void of navigation on the edge of the atlas
Crafting dreams with hammers of blacksmiths
Following this trail through a rubix cube
Day by day pieces mutate and move
Twisting and turning till it slides and locks
Reveling the secrets in this puzzle box


In a forefront of blurred objects and mirages
Generic opinions and half truth collages
Resting relations on prosthetic support beams
That capsize under the awe of your dreams
I captured a sunbeam and I’ll ride till I’m content
Until this saddle crumbles apart, or my mind grows vents
Speech that is not judged no motives that are ulterior
Conversing in an equilibrium of no superiors
Houses of mirrors crumbling to the earth
Plumes of ash rise as the fallacies burst
Two wrongs don’t make a right, who gave truth birth?
In a maternity ward contest asking which was first
Squeezing the last bit of oxygen into your chest
Hungry for truth within mocking depths
For those who see the gleam grab what you believe
Faces blast from the murk gasping for air to breathe


Running and breaking ankles in a recycled jungle gym
If small talk held any weight we’d allhave to swim
Just hold that thought this ice has grown to thin
Break that pane of glass and we’re all falling in
To an endless pit of genuine authenticity
Tumbling through clouds of synthetic imagery
I attended the wake of creativity yesterday
I witnessed it sinking in shards as the earth gave way
Before it passed we shared a glance and I felt it’s sorrow
A lifetime for my iris’s to borrow
You can’t fear shadows if you live with your blinds drawn
Hoping for the sunrise because you’ve never seen dawn
Using paintings as mirrors you stare and hope
Looking for your identity through a kaleidoscope
When the mirror cracks and paintings disappear
Shards of smoke will paint a picture that’s clear