My self progression seems to be moving backwards,
self worship
bowing down to a pharoah,
images made of gold,
I sacrifice who I was
and exchange my soul for a dream,
i awake,
reality built of nightmares,
on the balcony of thought i sit,
counting the vultures
waiting to consume me,
a house, brick walls, family
aint no home,
T.V farthers me and school mothers me,
a baby on powder milk,
my heart becomes a desolated planet,
pumping nothing but dust,
in whirlwinds of sanity,
not talking seems to be taking its toll on me,
self pity doesnt do it for me,
so I place the pain in liquid form,
swallow and move on