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.

Perfect Sense

It is the passing time that confronts me
while choices bestow upon myself.
Survival is the truth to a system
where capitalism controls the size.

In my thought of being, money controls me
in my doing which must earn sense.
I call to myself to reassess this plot
and grow up into satisfaction of craft.

Perfect Weddings

Sex is bacon
for the masses, we are getting fatter pigs.
Stick a camera on my dick and head for mountain trails.
I feel sick that people masturbate to even evil shit,
why can’t we just rejoice in loneliness and tears.
If I had 100 women I would be a mess,
some have had them and rose in fame.
Such simple fruits can birth a child for marriage,
then you gotta explain it to your dad, again…