I feel I'm getting smaller
and one day I'll disappear.

I feel I'm growing cold
is this getting old?
as the passions which I hold
stow slowly into stone

A crooked compromise
watching the demise
of love for younger times
eroding quickly with the tides

Holding to emotions
I wish would still arise
yet with every motion
swallowed more within my mind

Is this poem too simple?
Does it have no depth?
at least I carry words
there is no peace in breath.

I like beautiful words
for ugly truths
Whats your excuse?

I'm a kind of tired that sleep can't fix
in a game gone amiss where no one wins
in a race stuck in place that don't begin
where every action is seen as sin

I am kind of lost where no compass
can find a home or points to bliss
facing the wind as I ****
the stains on my soles will iterate this

Im the kind of mad that lacks their tricks
a sad gone bad that cant be nixed
perplexed and had caught in the mix
as it all comes down like a ton of bricks

An introvert to escape the hurt
whos grew quite sick of chasing skirts
nomad on the landscape scraping dirt
disguising a grave as a yurt

Sorry I can't relate to you
or if my act seems see through
as the voices scream I'm destined to lose
on a path that Im told I can choose
yet the only one praised seems lead to a land of fools

how does a man covey
the truths that we evade
its like we're playing a game
we know no winners escape

I'm at a loss for words
and the more that I blurt
the more it seems absurd
contemplating what is worse
to quit this race and go unheard
or push on only to be burned
wading in a world of hurt
reducing it all to a blur

Nation, or relation,
religion or procreation
assimilates me deeper
into disassociation

maybe they taught me how to fear all the hatred
but rarely how some love and cheer can change the situation

now I'm just exhausted
waiting for the rules to change
being accosted
by those who always point the blame

reptilian brains
thats been raised
bound by chains
to anothers mission
driven insane
by the thoughts ingrained
with repetition
same old same
to envision
imposed superstitions
to be swallowed whole
polluted souls
who no longer have control
with no indication
no escape
no letting go

sickened and disgusted by your ******* cause
to raise a sense of greed
for everything
above of all

the more feelings taken from me
the more I feel like a machine
that I never wanted to be
am I too far from rescuing?

in a group of robots
who know not what they do
who will use any excuse
to continue what their used to

am I the only one who seems to see this cell?
because when I point it out I am told to go to hell

We are all heard
eventually
Unfortunately
its usually too late

Are we so utterly destroyed?
Are we raised to be lowered
into depths
a man can not physically dig?
Why do we seek a hell
so obviously guised as heaven?
Are we beyond repair?
Can we never be fixed
to match the idea
of a standard model?
Would you want to?
Did these gears in the machine
ever have a chance
to pass inspection in the first place?
Was I doomed upon that assembly line?
Were we all?
Am I the reject
in the dollar bin
of a land
full of selfish
consuming
monsters
who have no teeth of their own
waiting for their masters to chew
and regurgitate back
into their joyous awaiting mouths?
Is the way I write this
too imperfect?
Does this gain me nothing
but a stroke of ego?
Should I expect to deserve more?
too little product?
a lackey robotic?
Not enough dollar signs
to place upon it?
Are these feelings, feelings anymore?
Or are they nothing
but programmed responses?
Am I alive
by falling from the branch
of a toxic Oak
only to pollinate
the oily soil?

Should I just
be a good slave
to the cult of "us"
and earn for myself
which no mortal
has right
putting a price tag on.
Can robots trust?