born from the virgin mary and forced to suffer at the hands of god. there is no redemption. there is no cleansing. my brain is an unfiltered gooey tap. imagine the auburn splutters of a clogged sink bursting up through the pipes and splattering into the bowl, imagine the cracked mirrors of a fun house skewering you in all directions, up down left right. can you imagine being picked apart? taken for all you're worth? can you imagine building everything on lies? can you imagine that every bad instance is biblical karma that you can never seek to right? can you imagine fading out on a field with your brain padded in all directions? can you imagine the past mistakes filling you? can you imagine being destined for failure? a weed in a flower bed? a virus in a homeless camp? access to your memories entirely obscured by the walls behind your eyes, that only you can feel? you want to be free! you want to live without having to confess your sins! of your ten and more muses, fragments of you which you filter between on days you feel most connected, of psychosis streamed through the rays of light allowed passed by the clouds of your rainy city, which of them could tell you who you are? none! you sit on your throne of privilege and denial! you beg for change and turn away at the thought when it arises. an endless perpetual cycle of nonsensical "its not my fault"s. the colourful deceit you use to convince yourself and others of who is there are the continious downfalls of every group and every circle. more more more!