choking insanity

speakers of wisdom

from the young, speakers of 'wisdom' spilled lies of truth, painting over my canvas intellect that my
thoughts were peculiar—uneven—slow—mindless.

the speakers of 'wisdom' prayed to god that i was
pure, distinctly, stupid.
god overheard the claims, granting the truth of the blood stained lies.

peculiar—uneven—slow—mindless,
the words slit my throat and make it hard to think
(harder than it already is)
i swallow the red wine before it spills out of me,
because (according to) the speakers of 'wisdom'
shoving my soul into an invalid coffin makes me (in)sane.

'people can't know you're
pure, distinctly, stupid.'
people can't know
people can't know
people can't know.
it doesn't make sense. (though nothing does)
'if people know you're
peculiar, uneven, slow, mindless
they won't like you,
people won't (don't) get you.'

the speakers of 'wisdom' play an act of
what's right to what's wrong,
if you're not in the society's fine line of
smart to dumb,
then lay in your casket and pray to god (if he'll listen) that you'll make it out alive.

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pls i hate being dyslexic LMAO