[INTRO - SPOKEN] (Clears throat) Hi… My name is Dustin… And… I’m a Thoughtaholic. (Pause) Thoughts pour and seep. They carry me as they creep. I try to fight them By keeping busy with… Things. But then… They just… They just… Peek past my eyes when they’re closed. And the thoughts think While I sleep. [ACT I - THE SPIRAL] They… They… They start to manifest Into dreams. Consume my world Into an intellectual womb Of unknown seas. They begin to see. Creating real Without a real real To create a real thought To clearly be. That’s when I become… Thunk. An overconsumption of thinking. Assuming I’ll overcome Every thoughtful proceeding. [BUILD] Tiny sparks. Compartmentalized thoughts. They shoot. Dash. Jump. Stomp. Wanting to know What’s outside the inside Beside the other side Of the front In the back Of a thought. It’s like… This. That. These. Those. That’s all I’ve got. [ACT II - DARK PATHS] Past passed. The past. But thinking like that Leads down dark paths. Paths that no longer shine light. Paths that look like life. Yet somehow Call themselves righteous. Too much thinking Outgrows the problem. Positive options forgotten. Proper precautions abandoned. My thoughts locked in a coffin. [BUILD] Optometrists examine my vision. But what my eyes reveal Transcends logic. [ACT III - THOUGHT AVALANCHE] My thoughts are… Erotic. Exotic. Hypnotic. Nymphotic. Exhausted from causes Caused by reasonable doubt. Bossed by demonic do’s. Don’ts. And nots. Crossed off Like a crucifix Painted on a forehead To represent God. Lost prophet. Nodding off Inside a monastery. Lips wrapped in cloth. Mouth always running. Thoughts posing with props The photographer forgot to crop. [BREAKDOWN] Please God… Please… Make these thoughts stop. Dot. Dot. Dot. I bought prayers last Sunday With a plate full Of psychotic monetary frauds. [ACT IV - THE MONSTER] Sometimes I’m dark. Goth. Psychiatric inkblot thoughts. Staring at an imaginary image Of a perfected me Created in Photoshop. Words upon words. Thoughts upon thoughts. Although I feel clean I still smear dirt and water Across myself with a mop. I ought not Believe every thought. [BUILD] My eyelids flip and flop. My brain connected Like WiFi on a laptop. WHY CAN’T I SHUT THEM OFF? [CLIMAX] It’s like I’m a robot. Mechanical mind of a monster. Uncontrollably controlled. Last night I killed myself And performed an autopsy. Right after My self-inflicted lobotomy. Severed pieces Spread apart from me. Now there’s lots of me. [ACT V - REVELATION] I better gather my thoughts. I’d better… I’d better… Talk sense. Money rests on my tongue. Blind rhymes. One at a time. Numerical primes. Symbolic crimes. Metaphorically… I’m genuine. My mind towers like Goliath. Defined by my heart: David. [FINAL BUILD] An unrecognized genius. Crowds laugh at the reasons. Family stares at my filth As it reflects their treasons. In silent agreement We all agree upon demons. As we are all heathens Believing beliefs About believing Without meaning. Ignoring a feeling. [OUTRO - SPOKEN] Thank you… For attending Thoughtaholics Anonymous. Where the lost prophet Proves monotonous prophecy. Addicted to the thought Of a thought. Which sounds like nothing. But beside too much… It truly is a lot. (Pause) My name is Dustin. And… I’m a Thoughtaholic.
