Reality

There is a revolver cold pressed to my temporal lobe

In magnesium burn

Bullets travel a path through my brain and out the other side for a hole in my head

Done my head right in then out with terrible hallucinations before death that have driven me mad

Fallacies of grandeur and arrogance blinding me to the truth that nothing has been broken

Yet the perspective of family

Helping me in ill times

This ravaging ailment in which I have lived in since I cannot remember

A habit of joints and whiskey may have hindered from which I can remember

But the statement remains still with delirium serums of perspective

Inducing thoughts of self contamination in this reality that I am hovering in the ozone

I can see the stars from here but sunlight has eluded my very sight

Drifting to the bottom where I see brothers gone this path of the mind

Utilizing the very things that make me see green on my skin and an alien that I am

I do not comprehend social convention of the serial conformist in front of me here and now

In every which way do they fit in

They dress alike

They seek normality

They seek career, marriage, children, and then death

From which I revel in the abnormalities that haunt their nightmares

I have wondrous dreams of the brush

Wild and free among the trees and I don’t have to worry if I fit in or succeed

Just exist in the tangential mist between my eyes and my brain

Present in the wakefulness of this plane