Lesser than a reparation to the now mitigated pusher.
Now he is,
But Once he was the colossal casuist,
To the greatest kicker on the couch.
No one sees your cramp,
But everyone feels the rift caused by your resentment.
After Einstein, you were the fourth next best thinker.
The act of giving up on the push, after the diminution of the last juice,
Can be ciphered to one word.
It feels the same.
The innervation that enhances giving up,
and the snip on the little thread keeping you from not been in sane.
I heard in my mind.
I was just too blatant for myself,
A perception of wrong,
was walled in my apperception.
My mind was me.
My thoughts became to loud, but mile.
My rigid ear felt an urge to banish me.
My stature was pulled down the city.
My new appellate was a rebel.
A lot was done to tarnish me.
But I survived.
Though life was mean.
Survival is the only reason why I am still me.
You let go of the motivation that gave you a reason to be real.
War is what you are loosing!
Reasoning is what you are loosing.
This comes for life,
Rest is the indubitable end of life.
This is no game.
This comes with no extra life.
This is war on the line.
Reality would give you a bowl of lime.
Sink your lungs with an elbow,
Put your breath on the line.
That's your existence on the line.
There would be no one left to tame the inner demon you've loosen.
That's your legacy on the line.
Never give up!
Make living up to your dreams come with no fine.