Reality

Skin to skin, with liquid holding it all together
one layer to the next, this is the depth of your existence
It doesn’t make you feel like anything
Liquid doesn’t feel, just flows
flows to the depths of past, and by passes your present
creating your future before you have even caught on to what you are
We have been grown from the ground, with a depth of two inches
only to return when timing isn’t ours;
Along the way, we claimed it to be our own
a constant presumption that with or with out our dirt
change never happens

Wave those flags of mercy, raise that dollar, speak your own words
how humble can it even be done, only to sleep in forged peace, with the same dollar to be found in your pocket
scoff your own words

Immovable in a mental movie of the repeated action, the way things were
A constant presumption, this is how they still reside
to you, change never happens
Submerse for long enough, the past will catch up with your present, and your future won’t exist you’re only made of dirt, and this is the depth of existence