Sleep Diction

He Who Eats Prunes

I can't talk.
You won't let me.
For the moment I open a window to you, there you are banging down my door.
I give you a sentence and you want my life.
But it's mine.
Can't you see I don't fit in your hands.
My brain is larger than that.
But alas, you continue the pursuits.
Hoping, that if I just appeal in the smallest ounce.
He will smoke me for life.
No.
What I know is that as soon as someone gets what they want, they'll hang you.
They'll beat you.
Place your name in the papers.
You would be famous without knowing any of your accomplishments.
"Oh that can't be good."
So I put on my headphones.
When will thous stop asking and start offering?
Presenting your ideals like they are mine.
Instead of selling yourself in what you think would make you appealing in the eyes on a single human, embrace the differences and solve the equation.
My words are for naught.
Anyway you can get it, suits you.
My only suit, was for a day of love, then of death.
Furthermore it hangs so far in the dark, I rather not traverse the dark that shrouds it.
Frivolous, to track my steps in hope of finding a clue.
This isn't a game, but the movie was great.
Don't give me something to hold in my hand.
My emotions stay unimpressed.
Meanwhile buttons are pressed.
I stand at the top of a mailbox looking down.
The craze confuses me.
Wallow, through the senseless repeat of sayings and actions.
I've exhausted them all.
I assure you, I won't be found unless I'm shown what's more.
To this day I've only spotted imitations.
Distractions.
Cease the foolish endeavor, and seek what you're really after.
Love.
I don't have it.