I'm at my wit's end. Fed up, burned out, sick and tired. Racing through alcohol fueled depression because I'm not free, to be me. Judged, criticized, crucified held to the expectations of other people's self-serving morality.
I'm a cog in a machine, rolled under the wheels, of a small business owner's capitalist pipe dream.
I'm a pawn in a game of war of money of politics. Mislead, misdirected. mission critical prime directive.
It's a story as old as "civilization" all of this dehumanization. Turning me into something that serves you better.
I'm warning people to stay away from me because I see through their **** and its ******* on ******* on ******* on *******.
I'm warning people I can't take much more because every human being is an ******* and a *****. Because we put these labels on being truthful and free. Because someone put a label on you and now you put one on me. Because someone taught you its okay, to be ignorant and mean.
And now I, have become indignant and belligerent which is just one step away from being just like you.
But how do I move away? Do I pack up the truck and literally move away? to where? Are people somehow better somewhere? Or do I just get as far away as I can from them, from you?
Living off the grid makes it hard to get laid. Living off the land makes it hard to get paid. And you've been raised to be a slave, a wage parasite on a dying host. You want more than to survive. You want to thrive. You want to live forever but will die of cancer or suicide.
The baby jesus inside me has its face smashed into a tv screen. The buddha inside me is tired of taking the blame.
If every step kills a bug and every bite kills a plant and every breath kills a microbe and every death of a dictator kills a universe of bacteria then the only right action is inaction and every action is inherently wrong. Morality is a psychosomatic symptom and our system is inherently flawed.
I try to escape and it seems like there's no way. There's no light at the end of the tunnel, and no traction on the corpses of the fallen. There's a dream of hermitage, and the sadness that follows.
There is sadness in every corner bar and every heartbeat. Sadness in every wilted limb and worried brow. Sadness in every frustrated plea for release. Sadness in the teardrops of the creation.
Sadness tumbling down like shards of glass from the millions of dreams broken by the machine. Constant grinding.