It's hard to feel these days
like the world's okay
with letting you live
without being one of them.
Half-breed,
cultureless mongrel
with no history to cling to.
Who the hell are you?
How do you identify?
"Human Being"
(if that's even a thing)
Like there's some global anatomy
or a certain way to be
One of a hive,
or autonomous drone
with no family no home.
Let's strip everything away
and tabula rasa all over the place.

each day it passes by
at six forty five

At first I woke from its growling intent
A cough, a sputter, a resonant hum
vibration thrumming in the hollow walls of this wooden cave I share with them.

Now I rise before it comes.
Though in years I have not heard it.
The anticipation propels my receptors
to action.

It will be today.

Every day I'm closer to the who I am that I may truly be, and no one else.

Or I've made the muscles weaker that I used to use to hide myself.

This dream's been over for a long time and I can see why.
There's no more waiting for the dark clouds to clear the sky.

(The place I need to be is in your eyes.)

Remember when my life was in your hands?
Leave my name, abandoned forever in the aftermath.

(Dust the trail behind to hide my path.)

(No light is guiding me)
(No foundation underneath)
(Following no compass)
(I found you in the wilderness)

I can see clearly in the void of materiality.
There's always been that form I was supposed to be.

(But faith is lost without the fantasy.)

Bring me to the place where I can be the one for you.
If you can see through me, then I can see it through.

(I'll dream again, just like I said I'd do.)

Don't let the ones in power
claim that they've allowed you
to be the one you are.

Permission came from existing,
so keep on resisting
the power.

A friend says it, then.
All I see is escapism.
As fast as legs can carry him.
He is what he's fleeing from.

Inner peace?
Certainty?
"What will be will be?"
Make a trope of tragedy.

Hope dies.  
I live.
All I've ever been.
Illusion keeping on.

Delusion keeping on.

Reality made me
and everything I want to see,
I want to see.

Trumpets blare triumphantly
for a rising, sadistic hierarchy.
(A not-so-subtle loss of dignity.)

Tragic wailing in major key.
A shrieking anthem of humanity.
(With catharsis ringing hollow, and empty.)

A spinning head chants endlessly,
insisting upon divinity,
while heralding apocalyptic certainty
with glee.

The choir sings in unity
exalting this reality:
A savage world of property,
and greed induced asymmetry.

The crescendo peaks to poverty,
to impossible depths of cruelty,
and banal acceptance of brutality.

Attuned to this society
the choir submits consensually.
(There is no escape for me.)

Yet I hear a counter-melody,
trilling away in minor key.
Time dissolves belief.
Ellipses march on to eternity.

Sad notes in the song of humanity...