Vent.

If I want to, fly high,
Then don't, ground me.
If I want to, live my life,
Then don't, hound me.

Don't judge me you prick, by your false expectations, don't measure me by the stick, of your psychiatric deviations.

I won't live up to the lie, and I won't simply lay down to die, but even if I did,

In death I'd still be enlightened, while you'd still be wrestling with your superego and your id.

There is no hell you can put me through, that's worse than sitting under the throne of your mind, watching you, slyly rule, blindly leading the blind, but revolution swoons, killing you with a kindness, all so kind.

Can't we all just live and let be, free of hatred and true to the human family tree. Tell me of what is and shall be and I'll tell you what isn't but can be.