Perfection of a Cry

I dunno, noise and action, products of duality, the like and likeness to left and right, good and bad. Why is it a fight between Devil and God when man himself produces.

So breathing here as always, I come to conclusions I am weak, through seeking desires of ego, I failed myself. These reaches like a hand grasping out, wanting satisfaction, from these, items, these visuals, noises, the consumer is me, the ego the buyer, the needs out there in produce.

Should I strip myself of all medals, objects removed, claiming solid needs of solid things? Would it be enough to remind me, the fools continue on ahead, at parties laughing and joyous over bread.

I choke and wheeze at knowing, a slight trap, a non gold, a non light. I am killing my mind slow, trapping myself in diction, classified as cultures that created these object I am.

Sober Party

Some ache you must break
through,
just the pain you downed, blocked,
stored away that stays,
pray it burns out.

For even walking I fell,
footsteps harder,
like two belts
stopping rape,
it happens.

I want, I want.
What?
Not you.
Not me.
Something,
that makes me work,
a knife in my back.

Stay clear of those pills
they call a party.
Safety is stored in peace
where you are sane
and close
to someone sober.