We’re history the moment we enter this world.
Like it or not. No one cares.

Mystery? We are gone, before long.
Blink of an eye. Fixed stares.

Multitudes single.
Singular masses.
We mingle.

Filling each others’ glasses.
Only to break the glass.
And cut ourselves. Bleeding.
History repeating.

Casting sideways glances.
Treading ever so lightly.
Corblimey!

We never leave in earnest.
Not even with the circus.
A letter to the non-discerning.
Hard to find purpose.

Dripping drops of time.
Windows onto the sublime.

No one to blame.
It’s but a silly game.

Tender, tiny dollar bill-
you give my time such worth.
Give my life to buy a thrill
And a box put under earth.

My gravestone sits over there;
paid a pretty penny.
Manages to look so fair
Surrounded by so many.

The car I drive is so nice
For my ride to the yard
Do not ask of me the price
Lest your dignity be marred.

My golden watch is better;
Reminds of time well spent.
Paid off the hassling debtor.
Lived at work to pay the rent.

There is a moment where in your life
you realize all of this-
all the possessions and "things"
have no real meaning

And that our existence is fluid
and that bodies are just shells-
and that pride and wealth
don't matter either

It is at this moment
we are left uncertain
of why we work hard
what are we working towards?

I think many of us
are still searching for happiness
among worldly acquisitions
rather than finding it inside ourselves

Looking for a key to meaning
but what if there is no such key
and what if there is no such meaning?

we come out of the night that leaves us blinded,
crawling on our hands and knees,
searching for an effective escape.

it’s all black on black, a dream in a dream.
we fall into the trap, we’re pulled into the chain.
our hearts put up a facade.

racing towards an undefined finish line,
we’ll find our passion and our purpose,
we’ll become the real ones.

so much is clouded in our thoughts.
diving into unknown territory, waters so deep.
how do we know this is our mission?

are we who we present ourselves as?

do we fit into the mold?

(I will open my eyes, find my seventh sense,
and breathe)

If I wanted the freedom to
choose.
I think I’d be hard pressed
to get myself undressed
and show my naked body
to you.

That isn’t what I wanted at
all.
Are the scorched earth and trees
that some crazy man sees,
enough to convince of me
a fall?

Lip service makes me feel such a
rush.
Like my hands and my knees
can do much to please,
but **** if it don’t make
me blush.

Savior? Where are you? I’m waiting
NOW!
While science betrays you
and history flays you.
But we keep tipping the sa-
cred cow.

Punishment seems so unbecome-
ing.
If only I’d lived then,
I’d have died for my own sin
and kept you around for
loving.

I mean, *******! Don’t we need
It.
We’re lost in the forest,
our reason is porous,
and our culture is a
pit.

None of this “living” makes any
sense.
The cards that I’m holding
make me think about folding,
cause already I’ve tried to
repent.