Control of the mind

Run, we go around in circles over and over
Was that a brilliant idea?
The landing point: the drug empire.
Lights of blue and white mimick the guilt that swallows a tired soul whole.
Stupidity: what is so erotic consistent in challenges and forget me nots.
Dreams broken, clocks nailed shut
Tiresome to dust off what is growing red from over doing cloth burns
Reading the mind, gone blurry
The sopping wetness feels sticky
It is a mind control thing
Gears are stuck in park
Wax it clean and residue will always leave a pinprint of failures
Success is only a drop away, yet the faucet is clogged
Nothing can break through
There must be a soft spot in a chain that frees chaos from building up.
The ear wax is superglued to bad memories and wreckless overpriced gold.
Water will only rust fake gold.
That green thumb will never disappear.
All and all, a pity party can only keep a stagnant soul doomed to lifeless boredom.