A bullet called scify is my reality

I wake up in the Morn'n
Set on doin' nothin'
Dont expect much from me,
Just ask me to be- Mr. Adora Lee
I am Human,
I am a Mess
You can call me
A reck or a masterpiece,
I just want to be called
Mr. Adora Lee.
I walk like trajedy
I talk like a trajedy
Baby, I dont even know what to do with me...
I walk like a trajedy, I walk like a trajedy
I talk like a trajedy, I talk like a trajedy
Miss me, Ms. Me, Miss Me

It is what it is...
It is, It is, it surely is
And its nothing
thats what it is
who wants to be nothing?
who wants to be it?
We surely were something,
we was, we was, we sure was.

This is where I left the isolation
Choosing between truth and fiction
traveling in friction...

I need direction to perfection,
refusing logic or pattern
0 and 1 over and over
in constant abstract expression

I pilgrimaged to see
the intangible things behind a static screen
And I was saved on account of my lack of safety
My speculated disease
is my tongue in cheek
priveleged opportunity.

I am an adult void of proper foundation, school standing, or financial backing.
With a reckless resume, filled by days without an account of point or responsibility.
Some ambition to nuture, here
some motivation to volunteer, there
I was a trauma survivor.
Anti this, aeithist that
failure is just one hat I wear
under the average american standard success...
Happiness equal to self mutilation and obesity
Its only opinions and philosophy, only desire and injury.

Its all inspiration and no tact,
meeting the status quo never changed someone's status
ive been aware for awhile
Now, is infinitely pivotal.
Unconquerable time,
hasnt the claim to be sentenced,
prior, for later.

All the ackwardness present in all that I'd do,
illustrates concept
not tricep.

My sanity is married to unfaced, subsurface dreams.
Life's made me a dyke.
I'm left with breathless laughing and gasping sighs,
and that how
why at this time
the essence of my conscious
hides in high favor of comfort.

Just to just cope,
to protest the unavoidable
since indifference didnt bid the lonliness away.
In indecent descent
pierced, punctured, and akin to the likes of waves
akin to a momentum,
as caring as to be carried
off into the distant
with the prescence of music as therapy.

The same old clouds,
the same as the rest.
Just the same old clouds,
the same as the rest of them all.
Sound check,
I hear an echo of vibrations repelled back
This is the universe's soundtrack.