(Sub)concious

Riots of color explode on my skin

telling me please, just don't sin again.

The powder it tickles my flesh and my form,

asking "what is it that you find the norm

that so twists up your sense of desire

bringing you ever higher and higher

towards what it is you'll never achieve

further, why is it that you always must leave

halfway through the task being done

always feet first, helping you run

from family and friends that support you with love

from those that give you advice from above

like a celestial god, lifting the veil,

telling the tales that wise men must tell,

telling you all that can be achieved,

whispering nothings that won't be received

because here you are sitting in a dimly lit room,

growing older, larger, making a tomb

out of sunkist cans and old bits of trash

while the rest of the world goes by in a flash

making progress in ways that you never will know,

so why is it so that you always must go

with the easy way out; the way most usually do

when you know that you're better, that you're not close to through

with your mission, your statement, your treatment of others

the things that define you, your friends, teachers, and brothers,

those that were there when you needed them most,

those that will gladly see you off with a toast

to a name that they know means something to them,

because that's what you are: a solid, good friend

that gives level advice that you don't take yourself

because 'that would take effort, that would take wealth'

as you lie once again that you can't climb this tower

but fuck that man, you just lack willpower

a flaw you've had since you've been alive

but just get up, just get down and jive

with the program of life, it's not getting easier

it's not getting pretty, it's just getting greasier

it's just getting dirty, so don't mind the fuss,

and don't take this seriously, after all, I'm just dust."