a grain of sand

As fast as an ipod nano, I surface to the world then sink like we used to think happened to vessels taken to the brink of earth's edges. Dated. Historical. Forget about the pages of the past and what yours or my god planned over the course of recorded history. If insignificant, your life remains a mystery for those that pass after. Stages set then stripped down, audiences engaged then dipped out. Lions uncaged and the slaves too to duke it out in front of the peasants that paid dues to the same monsters that caged you in one way or another. Today it happens still but more covered. I wish I had a stronger taste for steak, or barely born unuddered calves torn from their mothers. Because if that was the case it's likely I'd have a better place within the matrix, luxury in excess would take my paychecks. And that too, finding a program that suits my motherboard is becoming a numbing chore, I'm one pill away from resigning to the fate of the user. I've never been a substance abuser in the strictest sense of the action, we both wanted passion or lack there of, it depended on the traction, if we were off by feet or fractions. But either way it was burned with a consensual flame, I got lifted and she got delayed. This is what kept me from diagnosing the days that layed ahead of me, I chose to ignore the fact I might live to see those days frighteningly close up. They're here now. And I'm still wearing a smeared frown, must ash in my dairy because the blunts everlasting. If I crashed would you carry me to the nearest pier to scope the ocean one last time before I'm thrown in? that's what I'm hopin. Anyways, back to what I'm trying to clear from my throat, winds are blocked by the undeveloped thoughts that're locked to my esophagus. I often get lost in space of a single room, sometimes taking two moons for me to relearn how to move. It's to the point I'm no longer amused, or at least can't devise a ruse to disguise the oddities that thru childhood have stuck to my hooves. These sentences in and of themselves are perfect examples why I'm reluctant to move, I'm curious what may surface if I continue to delve into subconscious like dwarves into mountains. Moria's the goal in the engineering of my soul but on that I'm not counting, more like Smèagol I'm routing, with hands digging tunnels while pouting rather than proudly designing halls and chambers to demonstrate the worth of precise labor. Why can't I accept that life's a time taker, it takes patience with all patients to learn the ancient way of staying sane first, then prescribing cures for pain, bursts of energy towards those most heavily in need of. But the reserves it takes to equate the negative space is beyond me, I think I'm one of those that constantly needs calming. And I'm always stalling. To the point, I take the path from above looks like a spiral. the center, or peak, once there though you're in for an eyeful. No, there're no statues of idols but hidden in the open pastures are hatches that hide what's most vital, an entire labyrinth of corridors whose inhabitants are insightful but weak towards the spiteful way knowledge is displayed to the masses, so they remain beneath the grasses as each season passes. It's yet to be seen if these beings will become known in the grand scheme or just be described like a dream by the few that have actually seen what's below the wind blown fields.