This Reality Is Only Our Worst Nightmare

If we don’t kill ourselves
We’ll be the leaders of a messed up generation
If we don’t kid ourselves
Would they believe us if we told them the reasons why?

Surrounding ourselves with what we choose to hear, playing to the beat of everyone around us. Strumming to the chorus of what they try to tell us, harmonising to the screams echoing from the insides.

But as it is, we don’t hear the simplicity of the note yearning to escape. Simplistic as a song without frivol, without fanciful technology as enhancers. We don’t seem to hear the bay crying from our insides.

Yet it’s the simplicity of the most innocent lullaby, the tingle of a single Twinkle Twinkle, that penetrates the soul at its deepest.

But we ignore our innocence.

Masked by the secular noises of everything we chose to let in, every drum and bass beat we use as a replica for our true heart beat. We disguise pain with knowledge, burdens weighed down by experience.

And the one time we are reminded of our natural essences as an unscathed, unbroken human foetus, we get drawn back into the abyss what what we have now come to understand as “reality.”

The paradox, is that this reality is only our worst nightmare.

With this speed of light
Ima leave this love behind
And I feel alright
Like I never have tonight.

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