Screaming defiant for gnosis
Sick of wading through the interpretations
Facing piles of books that grow with
Each stumbling session of inebriation
Working myth from myth
Forming some knowledgable constellation
That will demonstrate the shift
From truth to the lie we're facin'.

And I want incessantly to at least be re-assured that I am not, that I can not be the only person that feels this way.

I'll rest when I'm impressed
So I stay stressed
I'll close my eyes for death
And (though I prey for something different) I'll stop being tense for nothing less.
But beyond the point, probably because I can't put the pieces together, and it seems the wise men keep saying that the only way to see the picture is to ignore that it is there.

I guess at the end of the day
All I'm trying to say
Is that some of us stay awake
With a shaking, frightened grip on the hope that somewhere out there is something that will let us know that it's all worth it. Something that will make it obvious that we can close our eyes and relax and breathe in the beautiful summer air and sit down under the sunset and know without even the slightest of doubts that we're okay.