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split personality, the difference between

The difference between seeing red and making amends is the openness in seeing half truths and lying in them. I hate being stuck in the middle. Thirstiness awakens the sleep that inhabits my anxiety. My prescription ran out yesterday so excuse my paranoia, it comes naturally.

History is at the root of depression, the negative of expression. The weight of it fills movie theaters, jail cells, TV shows and street corners. slavery

freedom/pain/ignorance

The library of street ain't got no books to check out, but the street always could tell more than you needed to know. Many of us don't know our family tree. We are mad at each other, mad at them-most don't know why. I'm trying to calculate the time between reconstruction and public housing, while others are debating similar characteristics between man and ape. Linked by blood matches, the truth seems absurd and you should lie more. Converse with the family tree and leaves may fall. The oxymoron of life is giving me head rushes. The knot in my neck tells that I'm stressed and my lack of action is the tension, but I only know how to talk to people with framed diplomas and I write well…can't get my hands dirty though, don't want to see much 'cause I can't get killed over this. Organization only lists my paranoia in steps: action: reaction: Reflection. Work then play, "take care of your priorities." So I mix business with pleasure to be GOD. Members at the country club and golf outings (no offense Tiger) swing their hearts on their shoulders and shove their brains in their pockets. The islands of adventure make me wonder why we live on the same planet and how long will it take to move. People walk the trail of tears every day. Generations of dreams pump red, my veins pump red, and I give away the green only getting it back in biweekly payments after taxes-my reward for being productive. Bringing it back, bringing it back, the roots tie around my faith and I know why I counted you. Census of learning. We dream of how it tastes.

Freedom is knowing your name, we devour the scent of it at the sense of reality that is so departmentalized we get a hint of it in lay-a-way deposits. I rent to own this faith 'cause I'm not sure about tomorrow, we are not sure how tomorrows fit on us. My classmate up north knows that he will own his father's business…knows that he will be a doctor someday…just bought his ticket to the Far East to begin his exploration of the world and live a little before going back to Grad school. Where is my legacy and why do I have the pressure of carrying a race to highness?

I'm nothing, but a bunch of insults and compliments and I fit accordingly to random sets of criteria on whim. It's all good and fucked up at the same time. Which way is the rhythm of my step? 'Cause I have generations of hopelessness and I walk with 2 left feet.


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