My world is not a world at all
They’re waiting for you to fall
Bereft of meaning
The world is bleeding
My life is not a life at all
They love to see you fall
But only if you’re hurt
And care about your work
My depth is not truly depth at all
They love to laugh at your feelings
But only if you pour out your heart
And are sincere and genuine
That’s when they call you fake
My poem is not a poem at all
No rhyme scheme no meter no literary devices
They love to destroy what they do not understand
They have done so for centuries
And reincarnated so they could do it over and over again
So who the fuck are they?
It doesn’t really matter
It is inconsequential
It doesn’t matter who I am either
We all return to dust
We all recycle lives
Reduced Reused Recycled
I have found happiness in what I lack
I have learned to discard their mental disorder
The tenets of society
But I cannot curb my own neurosis
I cannot change their psychosis
I am no better
I am no worse
I just am
For once
For Now
Consciousness is infinite
Mortality is limited
My world is exquisite
If I just would live in it
So much beauty around me
Yet I fell into the trap again
The trap of the neural network
That has predispositions
So will I claim to transcend?
To rise above to conquer?
The truth is I have fallen
A tendency to falter
My universe a consolation prize
These symptoms I must sever
I’ve more resolve than ever
But why is it always about me?
Isn’t that just selfish?
Those questions only come
From those who want me to feel helpless
From those that are truly self-ish
You create a false persona
You create a synthetic image
You wonder why I’m mostly a loner
I think of you I only grimace
Where is this going?
Off of the cliff
Apparently
I did never live
I did nothing but live
Nothing to give
But so quick to take
Maybe I really am
The one that’s fake