Passion of the Skeptic

Momentary, a lapse, a sort of calm
A sort of well, moment where
Everything feels, very much like it
Makes sense, until insanity comes back
Like a unwelcome guest festering in my mind

And I just continuously have to deal
With the cycle I was sentenced to
Like a prisoner with no awareness made
Of his charges or crime

And I'm not claiming to be saint
Nor am I claiming to be perfect
I'm just saying this seems like a kind of hell
That I would never sentence any mortal to
In or outside of the flesh

Isolation is really a cancerous thing
Ironically I was born in July
I am a cancer
But I have never killed anyone
At least to my knowledge
And if I have spare me the uh, weight
Of the guilt that comes with being
A murderer, because I never wanted that
To be who I was and I always tried to
Protect the ones I cared about
From any kind of actions that would lead
To that sort of uh, conduct

I'm sitting here in this place
Very much alone
Feeling like I'm only cared for when
There's a purpose to what could be gained
From my essence and being
That is able to somehow benefit

The others around me
So I'm here, taking a drag off this cigarette
I'm not sure if messages will be read
Or if they will linger in time like limbo
This state I'm in, currently I exist as a man
Beyond any shadow of a doubt I am real
And this is life on earth prior to any kind of death
Spiritual or physically

I've plead with the creator
I've plead with him
I've asked him to help me be okay
And maybe that's the problem
Maybe this cigarette is just not hitting

And I feel like I should probably get up
Thingy on the stove in my home of
Poverty built on pain and bones
In a city where lackluster existence
Is a thing and I light the stove
I turn the dial over like a new minute

On the clock I suppose
The hope I'm hanging to is but an illusion
Since time's really relative to the human psyche
And they say time is of the essence
Whether time's just a uh way we measure things

It doesn't actually exist
The essence doesn't exist cause this is all a void
Or a fever dream that we continuously live in
And I too think I have the mind of Christ
Or so I was told once in a book
Written thousands of years ago by multiple men
Who I would hope were divinely inspired
Or maybe the era they were in allotted for miracles to occur

With these days it feels like a bad letdown
Think of an album you would love
And it doesn't come out

It more or less festers
And they build a hype around it
And then the day it is released
The results are very underwhelming
And you feel like you just waited
All that time for something that could never give you
What you expected or you would've
Ever hoped for
So the hype dies much like a candle

Blowing in the wind
And you forget all about it
Until the next time when they try
To reprogram you to believe that
That the artist creating the next album will
Be hopefully living up to what you'd always

Needed from them
But they already lost their careers
Whether to ego or to a lack of belief in anything
So they got strung out and shit something

To the executives and that's when you
Realize the industry really is just a money
Making machine
And passion dies when a dollar sign
Becomes more important than the
Reason for being there in the first place

So I take a breath and I sit down
And I sit and I ponder everything
And here I am uh, looking into nothing
Cause I'm going to set my phone down
And continue this deep pointless talk
Trying to put up a facade of mine
Looking like a mascarade of pointless efforts

Some philosopher must have made
That a thing to coin so another perspective
An angle could be given towards
This thing we don't understand

Called life on a very concerning confusing
State of consciousness we're in
And I don't know if I'm rambling but I

Guess the efforts here are made moreso for
My own personal healing & growth than anything
I'll call this a diary entry
I don't know if I'm speaking in rhythm
But what is rhythm? Its just a relative thing
Beauty, music, whatever it is
It's in the eye of the beholder
But most of us are too
Blinded by the poison in
The air to really know what we're seeing
And what's really there?

If I really thought about Jesus Christ
And I really thought about God
And I asked myself about this man who did
Everything right and it still wasn't enough for him

Would I have wanted him
Would I have wanted to be the one
Who drove the nails through his hands and feet
Honestly probably because that's what everyone
That was supposed to be close to him did

His friends murdered him
I murdered him without reason to believe
And uh I'm trying to ask him
If he'll forgive me
For that because knowing what I know now
As Jesus now because

He's just a very good man
And a very great guide
Because time is not promised to us
And yet I and we exist in these seconds
Thankful that he somehow
Lives in my heart and that I did not lose
Every bit of empathy

I could have lost
Due to the cold bliss of an
Almost scorching winter known as 2022
2023, whatever year it is
But life is not always easy
In fact it's cold, it's often dark and desolate

And I guess my bones they don't feel like
The fire is shut up in them anymore
And I ask myself what the prophets ever did
In a season of silence
My season of rebellion has been
Often met with Someone gone in four years
But I still learn about the cross

The old hill and the ruggedness of it
I wonder how it felt to die willingly
Knowing it was going to be the worst experience
A human could ever face
And even all the gods can cry right?
Well that one sure did

Tears of blood as he bleeded
What he would have to behold
The cup of wrath poured out
And that's not fair
If he is God we did him wrong

And if he wasn't we kinda still did him wrong
Because if Jesus was a madman after all
Then what does that say about human beings
And how they treat the mentally ill
We're shitty
God help us all
Our hearts are dark and futile
Fuck this place