if we were splinters of god
It would be natural, then,
For the mind to explore and grow like bronchioles,
It could also be said that if you listen between the spaces
That the possible directions we could choose
Are infinitely less restricted, than we thought before

Old friend old friend, distraction
Can I walk on?
Or will I attach myself to you?
like I always seem to
With these stories that I cling to
When the past is never real anymore,
When the past is never real anymore

In this longing for light,
Voyage on diversified synapses that fight
Through paralysis
I got a answer for everything in these traps I set myself,
When the possible directions I could choose
Are infinitely less restricted than I thought before

Old friend