I Remember What You Have Forgotten

Why do I take any of it? The poison I mean. I'm surrounded by wicked, fiends with sunken sockets. I hate it here, yet I won't blow it all to pieces. What is the point? Knowing I could close the door behind me and all of this would go away. Like a strange dream that would end if only I could remember I was dreaming. Just open your eyes dear girl. All that I've learned about the world is true. Magick works in theory and practice. So why do I remain, anywhere reachable? What is goodness if evil does not exists? Knowing who you are is the key to fighting this whole society rap. Staying that way is beating the real disease. As they go at you day after day. Last of the dying self righteous punk rockers shunned by the liars and thieves. Waiting alone in Diagon Alley for all the flat-scans to find a personality. So many people are on this finding themselves rap. How long does it take a person to accept who they are? A fucking lifetime I guess. While I wait on my island. Made of poems and songs. 

I have such joy caged inside my sadness. Such anger for the bitter masses. Dropping like flys behind brick walls made of plastic. I can see what people hide it's gets easier every year. My memory of this place is oh so clear. While most think like a tape, erased day after day. The real tragedy is that I am still here. I have not got on a plane to a place where I can not find a familiar face. I'm starting to feel eaten alive again. The watchers have turned into Parana again. What are we  really up to anyway? I could just disappear. Become a forgotten memory. A distant thought not quite close enough to gleam. That is my real dream. The tragedy is that I am still here. I don't have the false joy. Work is bullshit, giving ourselves to another for profit. Every place I've ever worked I've attempted to burn down. I won't smile at you for a fee. Might as well drown in creativity. New friends can not fill an old mind. I remember my entire life. How can I preform as the sad clown? Old friends lie in order to align themselves with the new. Still teetered to the past by the ones who remember like me. My psychic mind is a personal Shakespearean Tragedy. My love is as beautiful as a dying man. We live next to the wall they think we are dying in. We see the gates stormed daily by love ones and close friends. A phantom home despised by phantom personalities. We smile and dream and create. Risking it all in front of another. Losing it all to survive as lovers. The real tragedy is nothing is ever lost just discovered. Another memory to last forever, or so they say. But what if forever were today? 

I'd have to show them that I remember it all. Not only that, I have more than half of it written down. Is this a poem or a confession? I've forgotten the difference somehow. One day I will reveal it all. But no one will understand. It will bring a tear to the eyes of the deaf and mad. The pain that I survive is real. Eternity is here to remind me. The darkness is an option. Death is always sitting right here beside me. One day it will take my hand and lead me to the land of the lonely. Where the hopeful believe this world will all start again. Where I will close my eyes and not remember any of this. For the first time in years. 

Goodbye sorrow

Goodbye memory

Goodbye tears

Goodbye hope

Goodbye fears

Goodbye all the nothing I ever was.

Goodbye every dream I believed was real.

Nothing left to see here but the evidence. That I did exist. With my eyes opened. Give me any quiz. I remember it all. Like the last witness to all the pain there ever was. Sober except for all for all the drugs. 

This is Josalisa, Live from Planet RiOT.