something is hidden In the words I choose behind every sentence it's all written out encoded in the lyrics I turn to a song they pop in my head it either happens or doesn't but I choose them if they fit or if it goes silent I look over what I've done then start over with new words popping in from the unknown I turn the page, a blank canvas to create do I choose wisely from the choice I am given or just let it all flow without questioning their rhythm what's new from here to the next what's you in the silence that rests is there a choice or was it predetermined are you just signals being triggered in the circuits I don't know the answers I don't know the questions I don't know anything is real even tangible existence just flows like the words that I use and gets triggered in the moment that you hear this we are patterns reoccurring and constant reitirated into every instance at what point do we consider it a hindrance? when the thoughts don't serve a meaningful addition when they refuse to help you create what's left is only destruction but they're still just popping in from nowhere you know is something hidden in the words that we choose and what happens to the ones we ignored take the shape of your very existence do you really have a choice?
