Nihilistic Romantic

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Jon R. Mohr's Playhouse

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Memory murmurs once more to me
Those passionate hours filled with unbinding love
Expanding in their chances and beauty
With every moonrise we witness in our arms

Expression knows no bounds, chance searches endlessly
And mind you, effortlessly
For the time that we can be together, away from the world

She caresses me again, holds my arm in her embrace
I know not how we arrived here
Perhaps this is what we have created
Reality out of possibility
The sun descends down the horizon
A kaleidoscope of emotion
She does not raise her head, but says, with eyes closed

We're here

We are born into this life, and it is tragic for people to take millions
Of different experiences away from themselves because life is filled with
Infinite other experiences that make the act of living a beautiful and worthwhile one
Be nice to people, help out friends, strangers, etc
Even though we ourselves are nothing, what we feel feels real to us
And thus we should continue to aspire for better and warmer feelings

We are nothing and will never be more than nothing
But enjoy life as it is and be a good person
Because what you perceive and experience is everything

July thirty first, twenty seventeen, four minutes past fart

It is upon the realization that fads are transient
And as such the joy, satisfaction, and validation from them
Is transient, and thus pointless
What value does happiness have if its reliant on dying joys

Pfftt who fucking cares about you

July thirty second, twenty 69, twenty seven million three hundred and thirty one Thousand two hundred minutes past fart

Our existence is definable on a few essential characteristics
The unyielding and unconscious loyalty we have to each other
Whereupon one may turn to insanity, obsession, and desperation
The childlike ignorance we tend to yield in times of uncertainty
And the ridiculous and deplorable situations in which our lack of volition is prominent
Follow, praise, bow, fulfill your desire to know

I'm so fuckin flawed it's hilarious
I'm as flawed as you
I control crowds, I make them ask for more
They beg for pleasure and more joy, but how fucking stupid
And I'm still as flawed as you

July thirty third, twenty one sixty nine
Nine hundred ninety seven billion five hundred 
And eighty eight million eight hundred thousand minutes past fart

Broken broken broken broken broken
Token token token token token
Put in the fucking token and roll again
You degenerate f*ck
We are a temporary existence so fucking enjoy it
Nobody knows
Nobody knows
Nobody

July twenty nineth twenty seventeen, four minutes before fart

How strange is it when you sit there thinking
I have these flaws and I could have done better here, here and here
And yet continue to act the same
Is it socially acceptable to find solace in episodes of madness
Is it socially acceptable yet to find conversing with musical instruments enjoyable
At what point does an episode of madness become unacceptable

Bathroom

It starts in despair, hopelessness
No man, even the strongest and hardest set in their beleifs
Can refuse a light shining in the black
Regardless of the lack of sanity it beckons
Like hypnotic, rhythmic harmonies slithering in the night
Men and women give their lives to a New God Incarnate
Taken away to a secluded paradise
Painted as such by a madman
Death becomes a requirement for fulfillment

When love is torn by a fateful stare
And the dark is whispering a sweet dare
Your heart's in the ornate pendulum
And your poetry's rhymes lead to bedlam

To see you free, to feel your breath
Return there, that place that imitates death
It's of your essence, the dwelling of God
As submissive as your thoughts, but as strong as your will

I have seen God, and I have experienced his unflinching wrath
I have also experienced his attempts to save us from his own wrath
I contemplate my own death
If the soldiers refuse to kill me
I will make them kill me

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