A dark room, cold and nightly, with fright we turn to those who remind us of greater problems; mysteries, we solve them together, but this is something altogether different. A fight for our lives, we sit bound next to our wives as society knives its way into our spiritual wits end, and we pant and beg like obedient little misters, all the while failing our sisters. Turn us loose on the governing bodies, bearing the work of our shoddy little hobbies. Let the processors process the massive amounts of pain from the masses, those tumbling asses whose only sin was being manipulated. Emasculated and intoxicated, our men have no hope to fight for, no country to die for.
You believers of the deceivers, can you hear an ageing griever? His vision of patriotism was rooted in escapism, and his children heard the stories second hand. Our future was taught that they’re all alone in this culture of vultures; trust no one; love no one.
All the while our bodies are changing, cells dying and rearranging, and memories fading, always fading, I do my best to keep from hating, but the anger rises and there’s a moment when the conscious realizes that the subconscious is in control, but the ego says, “no”, and we have to make a choice whether or not to pull the trigger. The taste of sweet, silver sugar. This test of endurance with no true assurance of heaven, good, or evil, surrounded constantly by arrogant people wrapped in a pretentious shell. Hell, I’d need to feel from the people their collective pain pressing upon my own soul before calling myself a god.
Then I wonder about these evil ones, and how were their minds before the deeds were done?
I look to my wife and kiss her goodbye, because I know I’m about to die. There are tears on her lips, but I cannot hear her cry. The darkness is swirling. My spirit is utterly broken. Why do these demons exist where no hero will save us? Enslave us and tame us, or they simply slay us. This is my fate.
I look out through a window at the cities sprawling overhead and the dread I am filled with is too much to deal with; I wonder if I can stop this, please give me a reason to drop this, because tomorrow might be too much to stomach. I’m sick with bile, and all the while I know that my heart was meant for something good. That’s the thing about life, in the end, it always leaves you hopeless.