Searching for a place,
well within your soul.
A spot to dig,
a little, dark hole.
A nice, quiet corner,
where the tape reel continues to roll.
The mind fading fast,
unhindered thoughts influx across the vibrant outcroppings.
It seems the past I can't run away from,
is catching up with me.
Eventually strangleholds of this system,
seize thumbs into your throat and force you to submit.
The longer you fight,
the blacker it gets.
Maybe it is the time my voice took control over my head.
Pagans held the world for far longer than we.
Repressive souls seek to destroy that which creates it.
Call me insane,
but I'll drown my passion in other beings.
She's on her way,
and I know I don't feel as I did before.
Fear has left,
along with it floods years of wasted truth.
Do not deny which makes us human,
for contradictory forces keep us in check.
Like magnets repelling,
forming a perfect place for the metal.
Do not question placement, only origination.