the otherside

There is an Energetic, Motivated and Passionate side of me and than there is the otherside. I am completely manic depressive and so extreme desperately gripping for a center. All it would take to level me out is exercise or medication. I watch as a I build things achieve accomplishments and than destructively create a path of ruins. 'If it wasn't meant to be it wasn't meant to be.' Than what is the point of trying.

Bopper Nation is up and Running

Traffic

Traffics fading and there is no one to blame but execution.
Life is not all peaches and cream but there is a constant flow
that moment that is disturbed, the moment time stops
That moment it ends the obvious.

Memory is slowly erasing. Beginning to write down more notes,
but even those are easily lost and discarded.
One day I will have to remind myself to wake up, and I'll forget.

There is this constant stream of conscious thoughts that erupt like orgasms from a pig.
I have to take a second and ask myself, 'are the highs worth the lows.'
Can I give it up?
Will I be less interesting?
Weighing out the pros and cons, I need to make a list of all the wrongs.
Is it time to turn to a god?
To accept some sort of religion?
Only when we are in pain, only when we are in vain, only when we are caged.
Like prison inmates, begging for forgiveness promising to be better people,
only to end up back inside again.

I have accepted that I am a criminal, but to which degree.
The NAVY did not accept me, the marines/army probably would.
If I stop using my brain, it will become primal.

Ice Tea and Lemonade, Strawberry Shortcake Serenade,
A pint of Blood for a pint of ice cream.

Do I leave?

Quick cut scenes and twists are the only excitement left. right.

There is an entry to the gate, cell exposure is eminent
toxins are found everywhere as our subconscious is subdued

There is something magnificent in the way the hammer retracts off the object it strikes
Colours echo our individual feeling, but have very little to do with our hearing
I don't mind that we are trapped in a bubble, I spend most time locked in a room

Each pause is another second for my heart to digest the flow of blood
I continue down the path and notice that there really isn't much respect for love
sure we all abuse the word and if it were wood the world would be covered in splinters
but unconditionally what ties us to a person where we see only their diamonds

I find some serial killers fascinating because like religious fanatics they are so set on their code of ethics and morals that conflict with our own.
And to the man and woman who prostitute themselves literally may they be honored for their honesty.

Hello All

sorry i been neglecting on the poetry and giving in to pop culture.
But i can assure you I'm working on a mix to be posed here