Schiz

We are all taught to be separate and yet the same.
Born, raised, live separate and the same.
We are mechanical sheep in a herd obeying orders not to stray off.
We are all machines, and we are made up of different machines.
The hand machine to grab, to throw, to write these words.
The eye machine to see and the ear machine to hear.
The mouth machine, the most controversial of them all.
It eats, it speaks, it breaths, it sucks. It does what the head-
the thinking machine-
tells it.
We are all separate machines with similar needs.
We eat, we drink, we sleep.
We shit and we fuck.
We are all separate by machine, but similar by function.
We all will to be led to a better tomorrow.
We hope by the grace of the God(s) of selected religion that we make it one more day.
They don't eat.
They don't drink.
You get the point.
We are us, and us is one.
Moving mechanically into the next.
We live, we love, we laugh.
We cry, we suffer, we die.
Perfectly on queue every time.
It's hilarious to watch.
They are them. Them is many where only one can exist.
We are false prophets playing this game that takes way to long.
Like Monopoly.
It's all for the profit.
We teach, they learn, they become us, we mechanize, nothing changes.
1+1=2 -1=1
That is the equation of the replacement.
That is all we are.
Separate pieces and similar functions.

Curious, Helplessness

It's not a hard habit to start
but it's a bitch to break out of it.
It will hit you like a ton of bricks,
and you'll think that you'll get over it.
It has a seductive personality,
naturally,
curiosity will get the best of us.
And you thought that you will get over it,
as if it were another teenage year heartbreak,
or some stupid mistake, accidental knee scrape.
It can't solve depression or tell you why it's there,
it only prolongs its existence, and feel bad later.

Life is not a person so don't blame it for your problems,
and neither is God, so don't blame him either.
They are both there to help you
and you bit the hand that fed you
and hunger hurts, but you cant stop it.
And you're helpless, but you wont ask for forgiveness.
You want to be the one to run the show.
You want to die saying "I held the reigns down this road."
And when it starts raining the pain will start singing,
and your deathbed will become your new pool of sorrow.
You prolonged its existence, now lets reminisce
on everything you forgot to hold to your heart,
you wont ask for forgiveness,
you say you want to accept punishment humbly,
with dignity,
but you are just so scared of being wrong,
you would rather die pridefully than know that you
lived this entire thing wrong,
and all you can blame is yourself,
because one day you sat down
and you lied to yourself

 you said,
"I'm gonna get over it,
and God help me, or I'll do it myself,
because I'm sick of this world
and he stuck me in it,
and it hurts so much,
I think I can fix it
I think I'll just walk it all off.
I can get over it by myself."