keep going

They say an object in motion stays in motion, I'm calling bs on that notion cuz I've been known to freeze in the full swing of things. I've made a bad habit of playin devil's advocate, not paid to lobby it's just a fucked up hobby. Unsettled abacus, how can I count on it? With units moving back and forth, adding and subtracting, I can't gauge the patterns that're happening and the effects they'll make to the bottom line. In a stale mate with self, I'm not calling my body mine, it's just a shell with a shelf life. Still feel like felt right next to my gal, I'm help lice, stay on her mind til I irritate. Can you see the wake? Not the ripples in the lake from the water craft, but the sniffles, sobs, or gasps from those staring at your casket? I've been a servant, carrying the burden to the alter, of some who only had a handful of responders when called to see them off as they wander beyond the physical world that we ponder. I'm trying to picture mine and it's quiet, just a priest with his side kicks, incense floating to the highest peaks of the ceiling, prayers recited weak with no feelings. I imagine my family's there but by default, with sinus calm because they'd prolly understand my dying's all I've ever wanted since I became self conscious, just bein honest. If that disturbs you, I gotta word or two for that. The individual can decide when or not to take that dirt nap, and I'm still here, I'm not that tired yet and my nerves haven't snapped. But my fingers have been lately, I'm getting closer to taking steps towards making music, maybe that's what I'm missing from my daily. Muses that won't pay me and that's fine, but they'll help me unwind and create tablets of thoughts divine. Wishful thinking because these are thoughts of someone sinking, one who's got an inkling of truth deep within and the rest is infected with sin, sin produced from confusion. I begin a movement, not of the masses but my own a*s, establish a life less dramatic, learn how to deal with the madness that exists below the heavens, trying to grow a bed of forget-me-nots, irises, and lemon trees. The seven seas are ahead of me if only I can except that at times I'll be floatin solo in between on oceans that're hella deep, the seagulls and swells that're gonna seem to help but really wanna swallow me. In the doldrums, I wallow, think about the past instead of thoughts of tomorrow, cast away the advice from Wilson at first like Tim Taylor, who needs guidance from a neighbor anyways? Let me pay for my own mistakes, the currency standard is based on pride and I can take the hit even if inflation rises, I got plenty. And if it is my demise, inside of me has always been a little bummy, no qualms with sleepin under crummy over passes as the traffic jams up or blasts past. Attracted to abstract plans, supper fasts last as long as it takes to come to conclusions of this rap trash or treasure I guess it is to me. Unlock the secretary's dresser with a key to reveal the quill, parchment, and ink. I will leave my think scribbled on a piece, waiting to be stamped by a notary hopefully