Menticide

I Indiana Jones’d my depression with fake smiles and aggression.  
No spores of joy in sight to teach me counter lessons.  

To hell with the common.
I lost interest to follow the herd, please sell me to the devil i’m about to summon.  
 
Nothing to look forward to. Not a thing worth looking back at.  
Many will say i have to see through.  
Not many left who’ll say they get that...  
 
Perfection is a personal conception.
For that reason it is obsolete and nothing more than a contraption.  
 
Caught in a web filled with delusional treats.  
Reaching your apex while being controlled by eight legged freaks.  
 
Hear that? It’s your sanity. It creaks.