Entertain the,
silly idea,
that they’re
watching you.

Not the people,
but the ideas.
How they dance,
how they laugh,

around your shrinking skull.
A skull, your comrade,
that blissfully goads you,
to fight them all.

Unaware, you have already begun.
You have started disgracing yourself.
You, bombastic and terribly wise,
find yourself weak, and ‘facetious.’

You can kid the brilliantly obvious idea
that structures are supposed to die.
Of course, people must die, too.
They, are the ones belittling you.

Taking away your identity, punishment is near.
Shamed by your guilt, losing seems apprehensive.
For, either way, you will die gracefully,
as concepts fail to understand, your ideas.

They, are the ones who must suffer death.
One filled with, not suffering, but just what?
It must be their destiny, to drown in dirt.
These things, belong to the ground, silly me.

Pour yourself, a dream.
Scour all who remain.
Enjoy watching them die,
even though it’s destiny.