Punk Pøetry

untitled part 1

A wørld ønce nøt predicted tø emanate such nøstalgia

But a wørld møre recently seen as an endangerment tø the smallest shadøws

A fear that ønce tøwered øver me has nøw been reduced tø tatters

I feel alive under the eyes øf the sun as it lures me back tø the resting place øf my past self.

Squinting døwn at the burial site beneath me, I realize that all lives must be lived twice

We all die early øn and are rebørn in øur øwn skin

Thøse of us who have such a strøng cønscience that wøuld alløw us tø witness and fully recøgnize øur first encøunter with death, are lucky

The rest are døømed tø a state øf ignørance and insignificance før the rest øf their individual eternities

Thøugh, før anyøne whø has chøsen tø read this, yøu have been cønfrønted by a divisiøn øf reality and fantasy, in which  I will assign tø yøu a questiøn, øne that is pertaining tø self identificatiøn

And as I ask this questiøn, I'd like før any øf yøu tø carry it thrøugh even yøur slightest dreams as a means øf resøurce

And sø, I ask yøu, if yøu were nøt birthed by søciety, shøuld yøu truly trust in søciety to raise yøu?