My Magic Pen

Recapping everything that happened the night before is typically a bad move,
Unless you yearn to lie within a deathbed God created for you!
For wearing too many different hats fitting the man you think you already are while,
Hiding the truth…

Might as well be yourself,
In a world trapped in a shell,
Cracking underneath pressure it already felt before!
We,
Just don’t seem to learn as emotions burn inside of our core hollowed of its joy we’ve sworn,
To never let die…

Come what may!
Better to spring into action and keep it hot until its time to hibernate,
And,
Gather up what most are afraid to eat at Day’s End…
Food for thought poisonous for snakes,
Steadily slithering inside of Grass kept cut as it goes through it phases.
Question is,
Will you let your grass grow long enough to block roads of redemption out of view as you embrace death?
Will you finish your story without acknowledging a rock bottom you escaped when,
You realized what was meant to be yours after wrestling with demons reigning over your mind-state then?
A match against He who’ll roam in your head until you sprint past a crossroad between drugs and a Mage’s pen…

I digress.
Because,
Magic is made by swimming past lakes of fire as crows perch by its edge.
While most shriek,
“You think you know me!?”
Anytime their character’s put to the test,
I’ll ring bells loud enough to open every door I should’ve walked through while slapping my chest!
And,
Chop up every bit of competition as the Ram seeing past the weeds like a,
Michelin Star Chef…