Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

If I was a pretty stone,
sitting on a pebbled beach,
would you pick me up and admire me,
treasure me with your whole heart.

Or, would you toss me into the abyss of the dark water,
as if another one of your typical skipping stones.

Would you cradle me and keep me from harm,
or show me to the world,
like a deserved golden medal.

Am I just like every other stone on this beach,
or am I special in some kind of way,
hopefully I'll see someday.

If I was a pretty stone,
sitting on your worktop, merely ten years old,
would you cherish me as you did when you found me.
If I was a pretty stone.

Tick-Tock,
Left, Right,
my head spins, like a caraselle that has just had it's rigs oiled.

One breath,
Two breath,
deep breaths, remember?
I'm struggling to keep up with the times of,
having to decide everything on a three second basis.

Three breath,
four breath,
focus now, this is a hard one,
I feel like my view of a casual day is slightly slanted, just like my over crammed clothes rack, crooked.

Tick-tock,
the clock ticks, hmm funny, I don't own a clock,
Tick-tock, five breath,
tick-tock, six breath,
I am taking too much air in, yes I know how ridiculous that sounds.

One has heard that after the fourth breath you should be fine,
nothing has changed, I'm just the idiot in the mass of people who frantically breathes deeply, fussing over a two-piece decision.

Seven breath,
eight breath,
now this is getting stupid,
why jump to conclusions when your ending could be your beginning?

Tick-tock,
left, right,
my head stops spinning,
is this the right choice?

Why do you push us away from what you want us to do?
Do you even realise the damage that you create?
You, create a monster building factory, where they end up hating themselves.

There is nothing called Identity anymore.
Everything is like an oasis in the middle of a dessert.
Non-existent.
An illusion.
Fake.

You expect things to be fulfilled,
And to go in your favour.
But all you are doing is creating a world of self-hatred and pity.
Problems have become a cliché,
And personal failure is nothing but a benefit in your freakish thought of a perfect system.

How many more faceless creatures do you want in this world?
Because, if you have it your way, the world will contain nothing,
but these mind-forgotten, brainwashed creatures.

You have a goal.
A goal to destroy what once was such a beauty,
Something that was once worth holding on to.

You have created nothing but heartache.
As it seems, the continuation of this process will lead to no back up from those,
who needed your support in times of great need.

You took and misshaped their being,
their purpose, their future,
And threw it away,
like as if it were nothing more than a piece of well chewed, chewing gum.

You hope for a better world,
A better and brighter future with strong leaders.
Well, my friend. You have missed your chance.
You could have had it, but you demolished it,
along with the rest of the living souls of your now well-thriving monsters.






You say you’re going green,
But you keep holding onto the idea of maintaining the meat factories of the century.
Well, you got your sirloin,
your loaf of scrambled up confusions and shattered dreams.
You keep them in your pressuriser,
To keep them warm and squirming.
You know, got to keep the green flowing.

One day,
One should hope you’ll see what a disaster you have created,
Though obviously too late.
That’s how it works.
You have to learn it the hard way. (If you have the capability of learning more inside that so called “wise”, thick, thinking-box of yours.)
I hope you know, what you got yourself into.
Good luck with it all.
It’s a great mess all of it. Be careful you don’t cut yourself on the shattered well-being of each precious youthful life you have affected.
Thank you for your great work,
Mr. Government.