pass on through
like the rest; ignorant
in their bliss, they're gods.
just like the rest,
inconsistent and incoherent;
they're blinded, though,
as their lives, cast and molded,
fall into place as planned.
i'm shaping mine,
from scratches as i'm scolded
for simplicity as a need;
the finer things just aren't for me.
it's unnatural, impractical,
and utterly insane.
so instead of having someplace to be,
i'd rather have some substance
*and possibly half-a-brain