if there is ever a chance to be yourself,
it isnt true..
there is no you,
there is no me.
universally embedded limbs on the eternal organism,
as it spreads you out like light through a prism,
to fill the light within,
many to be born/killed again.
releasing the prison of sense's pretense's,
is the lubrication to remove yourself from the equation,
of the fitted groove,
locked in which we move.
I like this.
I don't like that,
and in between that.
I stay trapped.
This really hit home for me. I've faked it in order not to lose it. I've done relationship CPR wishing someone would just take me to the morgue. And that middle stanza... wow... intense rhythm. In the end, I remember the shackles. ~N