In a fitting moment,

a human can be aroused

by the world they live in,

simple, free and confined.

We all have our hearts,

some talk about the soul,

others cry their bitter tears,

all wanting that place to stand.

Sounds familiar,

always is,

same words,

sentiment no different,

just another day in the life,

of a broken heart,

a wild imagination,

a central device of definition,

some human condition shit,

all the same

on a different day, different plane,

a parallel fucking universe,

somebody tell me how to get off,

rather than trying to hang on,

what happens when I fall,

nothing underneath,

just floating in the air,

sort of like my mind on acid,

or maybe nothing at all,

just my mind,

my fucking brain on

reality.