I’ve lost my aspiration.
The bottoms fallen out of my foundation.
To the extend I can measure
I’ve had more pain than I’ve had pleasure.

People rain on my potential.
They have reasons, spiritual and existential.
They’re high-brow and dogmatic.
They frighten me when they become fanatic!

What’s the point in conversation?
There’s no free speech when there’s dictation.
I won’t answer to any buddha.
They’re mouths, the size of a barracuda.

Pointing fingers as they question.
I won’t be drafted in someone’s obsession.
The meek are the sorest.
I’ll live my last days out in the forest.