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[deadmeat4sale]

There’s two realities.
You’ve got one in your head,
and one goes on when you’re dead.
They don’t always match up.
Thoughts get fabricated,
and build a home in you’re head.
They start out as seeds,
and if watered enough,
they will grow into lies;
Sprouting that swells in the mind;
replacing natural growth.
Vegetation with thorns
cutting wide open sores.
These wounds take time to heal.
All that you touch and feel
is infected by the pain.
It brings you down in defeat.
No one else sees these cuts.
They see you dragging your feet.
It’s your fault you sunk this low.
You always reap what you sow.
You must realize what has grown;
There’s still time to chop it down.
You’ve got all the right tools,
and the damage will mend.
You’ll still be left with a scar;
Let it be a reminder,
of who you truly are.
Or else your time will come,
and the lies will wither away,
while the reality you knew,
dismantled and died with you.
Another reality is live and robust.
It was left unhindered;
Never having felt your true touch.