What’s For Breakfast?
TWENTY ONE PILOTS
The slits in my face are muttering despondency.
My thoughts do not line up with my mouth,
they are unbalanced and lopsided.
I forgot to turn the fan on, and now my head is clouded with gusts of bewilderment and I cannot think straight.
Weeds are growing up there and they flourish with every step I take.
These weeds kill my thoughts and ideas before they have the opportunity to escape and transform into words.
Instead of portraying a complete thought or thorough message,
I vaguely illustrate these opaque meanings.
I gave birth to them and unfortunately i surrendered into the fatal choice of abortion, as I knew i couldn’t conquer these overcrowding weeds.
My stimulus is hibernating in a realm of hostility.
The taste buds in me have shrivelled up, and therefore everything that ventures into my soul tastes insipid.
I lay disarrayed under a cloak of depletion that camouflages the core of my skull.
Exhaustion billows through the deserts of my mind, creating sand storms that I lose myself in with every blink.
The wistfulness that dwells in my soul demands consciousness.
The canals that lead to the contents of my scalp have swollen up.
They cautiously filter anything that seeks to permeate them.
These message portrayers have a thriving fear of venom.
Every detrimental phrase that slithered through, polluted my ear drums.
My ears are infected with a variety of diseases that my body wasn’t immune to,
Even a whisper detonates the bombs in my skull.
Eyes rest behind the holes in my face, around the corner, down the block, sitting on a tree stump, watching vigilantly for the unexpected.
These eyes are hiding from what could potentially be a demon who will pluck me from the Earth like a lost wildflower in a meadow of prickly roses.
A demon with open arms, carrying a shroud ready to bundle me up in to trudge me along to my death bed could be creeping along the curb any moment.
With every blink, every breath, every step, my fingers are edging closer and closer to something.
Supernatural forces propel my hands toward you until my fingertips nudge the tiny triangle at the top of my pixelated screen.
I’m waking up and feeling is just coming into my fingertips,
sensation curdles through my veins.
My body sheds the counterfeit skin I grew into within my last awakening.
The sound coming from my speakers kindles a stimulus within me, and provokes it from it’s hibernation.
Each music note drowns the blossoming weeds with pesticide, each music note rescues every one of my thoughts from being consumed by these weeds.
Every murmur of delusion is turned into enhanced words to be announced precisely, to be declared in pride without hesitation.
Each bumpy word of uncertainty has been ironed out into smooth perfection.
Each lyric replenishes the dehydrated soil of my mind,
your words plant seeds into my now lush brain and every time i play your songs, you water my seeds into exuberant plants of thoughts.
They grow into vines, and these vines latch onto every word you depict to me through my speakers.
Instead of abortion, you give me twins of thoughts, triplets, quadruplets, quintuplets.
You scrape away the dusty sand from my eyes and allow me the privilege of seeing from your perspective, (a place i like to call home.)
The high notes of your voice render vitality into my bones.
Alas I can savor the essence and lucidity of exhilaration.
There’s a shift in gravity, a vulgar nuance of refinement,
a grotesque elegance of subtlety is harvested as I interpret your music.
It must be “Earth Day” because everytime I listen to you, you rid me of my intellectual debris and litter.
You alleviate my eardrums until they are fully unswollen.
Your exquisite voice is a remedy to every diseased word that has passed through these damaged ears.
I pay a doctor’s visit to your clinique every day, and the best part is that there is no requirement for scheduling appointments.
You sit waiting behind a desk, ready to cure me with names of medicines that are too beautiful to pronounce.
You are a doctor, yes, you are a chemist as well.
You take the medicines you are familiar with, and you bond them together to mold them into new substances with new meanings that never fully gain recognition for it’s capabilities.
You leave a passageway, that is now safe for information to travel through to my brain.
Taking your lyrics as hands, you pry apart my scalp to deactivate all the fragile bombs that have been ticking since day one.
You birth instincts into my system, motives, and inspiration.
Instead of sitting in the backs of my eyes, pondering the thought of an intimidating demon lurking to swoop me off my feet into my death,
I stand with broad shoulders.
Now, with your help, my hands slip away from sheltering my face.
I approach this demon, and as my confidence grows taller, his shadow grows weaker.
You’re to my right, maneuvering me through this nightmare of reality.
As you sing, I swipe the crown off of this demon’s head, and proclaim myself Queen.
“I am the Queen of these lands, this is my head, I control these thoughts now.”
I killed my monsters before they killed me.
We killed my monsters before they killed me.
Every time you open your mouth and sing to me, your breath expels into the clouded air of my mind, separating each particle of turmoil into it’s own section, organizing my thoughts into files.
You feed me a soul.
And no, I do not swallow it whole.
I take the incisors in my mouth and I disassemble each chunk, to acknowledge each component as independent in order to fully comprehend it’s existence.
My taste buds feel restless with piquancy.
The bacteria in my mouth dances with energy, as this pungent soul leaks it’s vigor onto the rest of my insides.
As it oozes down, the back of my throat prickles with liveliness.
This wholesome soul you feed me is crammed to the brim with vitamins, and nutrition.
Zest lingers in my mouth and lives within my chest.
My ribcages now nuzzle into my soul, protecting it and nurturing it.
And I look back and realize,
I have finally learned to get along with myself.
This is an old one, and it was my first attempt in trying to explain what the band, twenty one pilots means to me, and what their music does for me.
