Articles of these dire times
Remind me of my soul's state.
It tries to fly, though misguided by
The pursuits of materialism and "joy",
But it chokes on the band. With leash in hand,
My master demands I obey his commands.
"Sit", "Shake", "Give the rich your money".
Never to reach the land of milk and honey,
My soul lays tied to the ground, reading
Articles of these dire times.

"Respect Yourself."
Passing words from a yellow car
inspiringly raised society's bar.
Where, instead of an ad,
words of wisdom to mental health
Have lifted those the car have passed.
Hope for this world, at long last.

I spat out quotes and poetic verses,
Despite how everyone else converses.
I hoped that brains will win the war,
But I never had any brains at all.

I spat out quotes and poetic verses,
Despite how everyone else converses.
I hoped my brains will take me far,
But I never had any brains at all.

I spat out quotes and poetic verses,
Despite how everyone else converses.
I'm stuck here, ****** here, quoting still,
But I never had any brains at all.

I spat out quotes and poetic verses,
Despite how everyone else converses.
My brains are gone with atrophied will,
But I never had any brains at all.

On my tombstone lies a quote
From verses other people wrote.
A lackluster creative must
Existed within; my internal, eternal, rust.

Hate,
Bottled up inside
To commemorate
My greed and pride.

I run through dialogues
in my mind
as a way to communicate
with someone,
though imaginary as they may be,
my thoughts and feelings
on subjects, of which
I am lost.

"I have no other means,
no friends,
no families,
of which I may defenestrate
these ideas
through the windows of my soul."

"These fires have started
and started to spread
and started to burn my sanity's thread.
My sweater has come off again.
Lying naked in conflagration,
When will I be saved?
When my savior comes,
Sweater undone,
How should I behave?"

I talk to this nobody,
this fool on the hill,
and smile alone
in my empty home.

I know of problems
I do possess.
I can not fix them
Or lay them to rest.
With no one around,
And without wealth,
I look to the ground
And talk to myself.

Mistakes are throbbing in my head.
I feel the hate from all the dead:
The scientists who brought us life
That we live now to such great heights,
The doctors that have kept alive
Our fam'ly, friends, and pets alike,
Philosophers expanding minds
Of generations, now not blind,
And farmers bringing us our food,
Improving diets and our mood.
I'm feeling all their hate on me,
This waste of space,
nothing-to-be.