It’s faded, my future is jaded and
Is paraded through my line of sight like
A mangled, malnourished show pony that looks
Older than it is;
Old beyond its years, in terms of exhaustion.
It’ll be a work animal soon enough, a day laborer
With nights spent with the moon around it
And days with remembering the sun, imagining Her
Finding some other demented soul willing
To drive himself insane over Her.

Take each step one at a time, and only once,
The detoxers know this well.
Cling to the hope of getting better
And becoming whole again.
It seems so unlikely, I know,
But hope, no matter how slim the edge of it is,
Is worth grasping with every ounce of strength.
Then you can pull yourself up,
Drink from the cup,
And see the sun
Shining Her warmth with a smile.

I woke up on my final day
With a cut on my finger;
It’s not enough to be invisibly damaged.

I felt the heat before the light
Out of sight, it oppresses me,
She depresses me, in the distance.

Count down the time till we dine,
The paper cups rattle as the
Manic guy babbles against the **** and Nazis.
A funny mind is rotting, as I begin my departure.

Picked up by parents, carry my things, say goodbye
To the light-hearted detoxers, ending their sleepless night;
They put me in a mood worth having.

Step out into the summer morning air
My hair tossed in the breeze, pale pink and light lilac coat the horizon.
Today, my smile rises with the sun.

Step down through the tunnel
To where sanity is the exception,
Not the rule. The reception is
Disorienting; the detoxers laugh
And the head-cases cry, or else
Silently portray the visual tome of anguish
With eyes dancing from the harsh, white lights.

Contorted bodies cry, buried by
Smiles, seemingly faked for the sake of normality.
Mutants scream the totality of their lives.
The Big Ship’s communications are grim,
Where once hope was laced in it
Now there are only omens of death;
There’s brevity in my breaths.
Guided by what seems to be deceit to me,
Panic guides my steps
Into the unknown. Dear god,
What have I done?