Twisted

[TomDijon]

a feeling of haste
plastered on my face
twisting my nuts
my root my base
twisting my life
till I can't think straight
and all I can see is a curving wall
MY FATE!
and it hits me like a smack in the grace
making me awkwardly trip over my own feat
should I turn my other cheek
should I embrace this pace
of interlacing space
should I follow these tracks
with my unique train of chase
always trying to catch the whole truth
always knowing that it can't be caught?
I am a hunter by nature,
but does this mean i'm trying to kill it?
that I want it turned into shit?
the truth is like the sun.
even if we could reach it,
we could never take it keep it eat it
we could only feed it
but more likely
we would only be scorched and scorned
and sent back to earth
with our hopes and dreams torn
so I learn to gather
gather fruit born out of the power of the truth
for although they are broken mirors
mere reflections of the truth
they feed me
so eat up my friends
be full and merry
for we will never run out,
because even when we turn it all to shit,
it will be full of seeds
and what more fertile land for a better beginning
then one full of shit...
so eat up my friends
eat up
but remember,
when you box yourself in,
you'll become nothing more then a fly
waiting
to fry