The Unidentified

I’ve come to realize in my short sixteen years of life, that one can’t live to simply please others; because this is a never-ending cycle of your own personal death and destruction for the benefit of people or persons who don’t realize the extent of your worries; not only a cycle but a rhythm that becomes a reality; a schedule that is life; and an un-breakable bond of intrapersonal disappointment and often self-loathing; a deep-rooted, core based, dream of your own life that passes you by as if you’re someone else: some drone-like version of who you could be, yet, it is you; your only escapes seem to be synthetic and “feed your head” ; whether this be music, food, psychedelics, the realism of this is quite apparent; as humans, our drug is inner-balance, or self-happiness depending on how one looks at it; the dream sequence we tend to live will never fulfill this craving of the mind; and the only way to do so is to break the chains of others power and simply stop caring. But, with this comes beyond great risks. You risk losing the “perfect” life your fake-half has created; the security and stability in the repetitive circle of pleasing others; the faint familiarity of the one who looks like you yet isn’t; the narcotic that is constant in your life; and when things go wrong you find yourself right back where you started; when you yourself can’t survive without society’s clone. Your spirit is crushed and the synthetics are back. Tumbling down the rabbit hole: the family-friendly program that is your life begins to unravel; the seams break loose and the color of your fake fillers begin to pour over the edge of reality; and with each sticky drop the rain increases; understanding becomes confusion and the lines between your “perfect” life and secret life begin to blur; you’re conflicted; battling; fighting over which is the true you or better yet which is the right you; there is no longer a distinct difference between the two realities and things slip; the slip-ups happen more and more until you become the two people; this war isn’t visible to the naked eye; it’s on a chemical level: the chemicals of your mind, body, and drugs meld and the feelings become one; the beauty of separation bleed and turn dark brown and the glory of the rain is turned to ash; ash that is precious to your broken self; ash that leads to deception in order to continue without collapsing. Then the realization smacks you like an unforeseen train; this broken record is due to the unknowing oppressors; and your shackles will never be broken unless you make a clear concise decision; choose between your odd inner-self, and the painted portrayal you’ve been shaped into.