Emotions can be:

little magical sprites fluttering
inside your heart
caressing the deepest recesses
of your soul
gently giving you that "high"
happiness
euphoria
inside you springs
a boundless utopia

Or...

They can be devious tricksters
gremlins, the vilest of
these little devils
torturing you
pricking you with a thousand needles
of sadness
grief
the lowest forms
of loneliness.

Inside us dwells
the eternal Yin and Yang

We may be walking contradictions
irresolvable paradoxes
toyed by the whims of unseen forces
barraged by these mysterious
sensations, feelings

and yet,

Such confusion is what makes us
human.

Pondering existence itself:
mere deadweight for "success"
this narrative of the times
must be upheld as sacred
absolute!

The religion of modernity is that
of willful blindness taken
as a virtue

Benign
harmless
or so we are led to believe:

that it is the mark of a healthy man
to never use his brain!

Mundane concerns stifle
the soul that hungers for the infinite
Practicality subverts the mind
as it questions and wrestles with
this existential enigma...

Bound by the curse of productivity
and the insatiable drive for accumulation
Libidinal, perverse thoughts
drive the working man

to this, to that...

he is a puppet pulled by invisible strings:
the corporate, bureaucratic masters
calling the shots
laughing control freaks...
the world is theirs for the taking
and the worker-slave raises his hands
a sense of triumph
as the crumbs fall down

We live in a Kafkaesque era
merrily languishing
in this willful dementia.

Paralysis by analysis
overthinking life and all
its complexities...

I think:

Truth, what is it?
When everyone feels as if they
know
and feel
even ****
in the name of this 'Truth'

I ask why...

What's the basis for that certainty
Is it something born through analogy?
I see that we are all mistaken, guilty
Of that condescension!

Pretensions

Self-deception!

The irony of this age of technological
innovation
is that it has become fancy
to crave disinformation

Truth is what we think we possess
in this great idiocy of the masses.

My head hurts
and my mind a seething mass
of garbled words, premature thoughts
stillborn
a zombie lumbering aimlessly
through this reality...?
or is this even real?

What is real?

Who am I?

Am I just a specter?
have I stared too much at that yawning void?
Have I read too much Nietszche?
So much...

That the morning coffee
gets cold..

as I stare at it.

As I try to make sense of
this crazy world
that only exists in my head.

We love our freedoms so much
we fight for it
protest for it
**** for it
die for it

And suddenly, we forget it

This is when one ceases to be an individual
And when the world becomes one-sided
the mind utterly uncritical

This talk of freedom?
Mere babble

Hypocritical