Warfare of the Brain
Lisden

Life goes on as usual.

Wake up, school, homework, eat, leisure, sleep, repeat.

And on weekends and holidays:

Wake up, research, eat, leisure, sleep, repeat.

An endless cycle of repeating,

Again and again.

I promised myself I would do the things I wanted to do.

I promised myself that when I have time, I would work on it.

I promised myself that the things I wanted to learn, I would learn them now.

But am I learning the wrong things?

Am I learning things that will help me?

The answer is simple: yes and no.

There are some people who focus on their dream,

There are some people who settle for half-hearted happiness,

And then there is the majority that focuses on surviving.

Where do I fall?

I don’t know.

‘...at times like this, I miss a lot about what I know.’

They say that the things you want,

You have to wait for them and it will be given.

They say that the things you need,

You have to work for them.

They say that to survive,

You have to do and learn

Whether you like it or not.

So where have I gone wrong?

The voices and the demons that haunt me are always present,

Even at my happiest and most careless.

When I have too much bliss,

They have to remind me not to stray out of the necropolis.

‘Am I spoilt?’ they ask.

‘What have I learned?’ they ask.

And most often at times, I cannot find the answer to those questions.

‘My prayer is schizophrenic.’ (Twenty One Pilots, 2013a)

Each time I try to erase the stain on me,

It reappears again.

To remind me of the sins I’ve committed.

To remind me of the blasphemies I’ve uttered.

To remind me of the things that I couldn’t accomplish

And of the things in the future that I’ll never accomplish.

‘Am I useless?’ I ask.

‘Am I a bad person?’ I ask.

‘Are we irredeemable?’ we ask.

If all of it is true, then where do I stand?

My pride is too big to swallow,

‘My pride is no longer inside.’ (Twenty One Pilots, 2013b)

Am I moping?

Possibly, but what can a mere person do

When the seed is so rooted deeply on the inside?

The bishops have taken control;

The carnations have withered.

If there was such a thing as hope,

It is no longer yellow:

It has changed to a monochrome color,

One that was painted by my own doing.

Is there a meaning to this life?

I can only hope that in the next life,

If there is one,

That I can find it.

Twenty One Pilots, “Migraine”, Track 3 on Vessel, Fueled by Ramen, 2013a, compact disc

Twenty One Pilots, “Car Radio”, Track 5 on Vessel, Fueled by Ramen, 2013b, compact disc

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