They say "I'm not sure,"
and they know it's veritable.

Cluttered desk--hats and
textbooks and papers and
earbuds all askew, heart
pumping too quick

Sitting on a black plastic chair,
legs curled up underneath, eyes
flickering to The Latehomecomer,
stomach unsettled

"I'm not sure." of what?
head down, eyes searching,
mind spinning, lungs catered
like coffee at noon
"Everything."

Supplied lies, shaking hands
pouring chamomile tea into a
white cup, hoping for--
that too.

"Everything?" on their mind
is falsified and unknown,
twisted skin ruddy,
shoes all in a row,
nails bitten like marionette

"Anything." of confirmation
belongs to the stables
which blossom with the
stench of sweetness and
wild, roving insecurity

"I'm not sure," they
murmur, "what you mean."

Precipices are lonely business
and so are "People like me,"
Forks are steel but the
mind is molten
and rusted in decay

"dream of quiet," they laud
slick on thin ice of
the essay due tomorrow in
history on the death
of too many

Sunglasses are similar
to winter waters and
lightning spirals in the
they are in debt to
themselves, in depth of

"broken moments." that
clash and too much
to think
              slivers down in silver

carcasses of thoughts
"Okay, I can't help you."

"I know," filters out
behind lips of burning iron
"I never expected you too."
floats down the crowded
unfinished
                    street.

They're not sure of
everything and
I'm not sure of
me.

I know it's true.

Can you read me enough to know?
I guess not.

I've worked too ******* this mask to let you..

This mask of strenght.

To you I'm strong, a role model even..

Truth is, I'm weak.
Behind closed doors I'm broken, too broken for life.

I need someone to save me.

Yet no one knows..

Still I hope,
for someone to see the real me.

I am,
We are
The fuel for their fires,
The sugar in their coffee,
The vulcanized rubber tires
Of their impossibly pretentious transportation.
I am,
We are
The only work they do,
The grease between their gears,
And the motor that turns them,
Round and round and round we go;
When will it stop?
I am,
We are
Their commodity;
Their work force;
Their *****.
I can,
We can
Find a new master,
Find a better master,
Enjoy slavehood,
Sing and dance for them,
Spend more and get less.
I can,
We can
Never really escape,
Never be our own master,
Never break free from the tyranny
Of their master plan:
Work, to get out of debt,
Accumulate debt, because you work,
Repeat,
Ad infinitum.

Still chasing a dream
on a whim of Belief
Destined for the journey
Facing me.

The ungrateful plate, of
food to be. The strength,
lacking, hateful of this, I
see clearly. The shameful
madness, as you call to her,
pleading, for the sapping, of
your spirit, exhausted, to end.
Had you foreseen, her dreadful
will, no doubt, as it grows within
you. None can be pleased, yet still
we foster, a living, a life, he, the imposter.