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Slowly fading into the background of an auto-piloted existence,
Where what brings happiness is not enough to wash out the reality of never having enough to be happy.
And while the world spins around me, I swallow my fears and say,
Is survival truly living? Always just getting by,
Until you die?
Why then do we let ourselves fade into the background,
When a wide world of imaginative freedom beckons on the horizons of our minds?
Where money has no bearing, and the rest of the world holds no power, no control,
To diminish or stomp out the flickers in your soul...
I say, I say I'll sooner die than let my spirit go to waste. My creative nature lives with a purpose: to be shared and expressed, born and confessed to bring color to this
Cookie cutter, bread and butter, lack-luster boring ass place.
I simply won't reside in permanence,
Negating the passion that finds me all on its own, tugs on my sleeve and whispers "Run."
RUN! It shouts, urging me to flee, and let me be me, with all of my flaws and whimsical sprees,
My outlandish and odd-ish thoughts that would otherwise be shamed, tamed, and then renamed to better suit the still and solemn world of Reality.
But the reality is this: if you waste your time here—your only time—suppressing the ambitions you were born with,
All the money
All the credit
All the work
And mindless routines
Will quickly be lost, and find you no better outcome than death.
Not the inevitable end our bodies will all know when the hour glass runs out,
But death to the person who was crumpled up and tossed into the waste basket of your heart, all because the voice of logic in your mind told you
You'd never be more than this.
I must thrive, and strive to do more than just "survive"...
Do what you must to stay afloat,
Just always remember to rock the boat.