They say what I do is a dream,
an ideal world I live in, it seems,
having the time of my life with books on beaches.
The serene little rich bit*h scenes
fool everybody,
but look behind the veils, the facades I wear.
You only ever see what I want you to see
because they said, baby, fake it till you make it,
so I handle the catastrophes,
paint lies to be witnessed,
and smile through the shit.
But behind the scenes is the real thing.
Welcome to the world
that hits the brink of tragedy
where reality merges with fantasy,
and everything is an illusion that seems like a dream.
The words and their worlds revolve incessantly
until they turn into a tornado and try to absorb everything.
The illusions win as I travel between four worlds everyday
before I collapse begging for some sleep.
It's a madhouse in there
as words manifest and creep into your dreams
until you wake up to them as the nightmare screams,
every face you see is only ever a story,
every touch only ever poetry,
nothing's real in this world, only a memory,
as you continue to dig an unknown history
and turn lies into truths, truths into lies,
making everyone believe what you need them to see,
like this little piece of art to have the scene of tragedy,
but in honesty,
it's a plea, maybe, to be pulled out of the asylum that's growing within.
Where are the narcotics that'll eternalise me
before they destroy me?
Haven't you heard,
she's the scandal who burned them down,
the touch-me-not of this town?
Step into gravity
before Alice gets lost in wonderland for Archie.
Now try and come for my job??
