The Outcast Weapon to Why...

I am alone
in the world, with beats and lyrics
created by the universes eye.

She steers voices, as fluently
as the wind, into opposite directions
simultaneously; simulating the scratching,
the whirling of isolationist tunes. The soul's music
head picked instantaneously off the first verse
before stepping into
the soundtrack of the sun



I bathe, in the shine of the afterthought,
during the present. Now is the time;
she breathes lyrics into emcees,
so that I may converse with my soul
walking in the distance

He told me that the gift of living
presented deals only seen through an eye. A trade
to remix reality into a subconscious
with no landscapes,
no alleyways
or undergrounds
we only walk among the stucture
of common conversations
trying to reside in a void - danc(e)
ing the now away

with just a pair of headphones, these voices
are all that I care
to listen to. Call me crazy
or call me gone. The wind crashing
against the iris, where scratched pupils
bleed lines of spiral stares
into eternity, is where I climb.

my mind to find emcees
rhyming equations
to maximize my attention span(s)

widening to conversations
circumvented by neglect.

Wednesday, December 30, 2009