A really trippy poem way outside the box, a peak into my mind and my dreams. |
-Power 3- by Keaton Foster Oh The dream Lucidity It screams Madness It breeds This disease Hollowing Out my head Emptying My crooked spine Always leaving me Reeling in pain Tormented Such a shame Oh None of it Not an ounce Is quite so real Because what is real Is openly left Upon the steps Of various speculation Thus purpose filled Regurgitation Here on the page Right in your face Either way Bothers me Far less than it should How can it all be It cannot God wouldn’t The devil will not In between I now reside In this prison Contained within How did I get here When did I arrive Birth Not so refined Death Not quite yet inspired Power 3 Is what I call it The name Thus my agony Such is a weight Given to me Received How could I refuse It was never an option When I close my eyes When I lay down to sleep With the aide Of copious amounts of dope Power 3 Again comes Need nor matter Such escapism Does not work Even those numb Can still truly feel Even those with an edge Sheared off Still feel the angle And the proceeding fall Down much further Into my very own soul Into the bottomless hole Where madness controls Where sadness patrols Where everything Is meant to be destroyed Shredded into pieces Torn from limb Ripped from bone Utterly devastated What’s the point There is none Power 3 Is as always In total control Maybe you Call it something different Maybe you are fortunate Not affected Maybe God Has considered you An effort of worth One to be truly saved While others be damned If that is the case You are privileged friend Take it from me Madness is no home No place of skin and bones No temple still standing Only ruin That’s what people like me The ones seeing everything Quite clearly while sleeping Must again come to face For those of us so unfortunate Differentiating between reality And subcutaneous calamity Becomes harder each new day That we managed not to cease… Power 3 Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2014. |