A Curse in the Rout
(In the beginning
of the 3rd millennium
of a simple calendar
from a twisted religion
on a beautiful planet
by a corrupted people.)
Once I read the instructions
I understood the game.
Then I figured out the pattern
and mastered the system.
The faster we would go,
the more time we could stack;
the numbers made sense
and we could finish the track.
There were birds in the dream
that would guide us by song,
and somehow we’d know
when the tracks were laid wrong.
However,
the system was concocted
with the ingredients
from a swindler’s list.
Therefore,
the only way it could be mastered
was with the sleight
of a thief’s hand.
Once I stood under that,
there was no going back—
At least not with my morals intact.
I tried to travel the “legal” route.
I sent a letter.
An inquiry of sorts.
A formal complaint
or a reform request.
Assuming they might
just be stupid, at best.
The response I received was:
"Dear Concerned Insurgent,
You have complicated themes
Integrated with scenes
of reality and soul
which clog our machines.
Please comply with the laws
of the established regime
or prepare to hide and/or die
with your dreams.
Sinserially yours,
The United Extremes"
So,
It seems
I have been locked out.
I’ll hide the best I can,
I’ll wash my hands,
rearrange my plans.
I might be trapped
and I might die,
but at least
I know exactly why.
And knowing is
half the battle
to enlightenment.
And when everyone around me
who blindly participates
starts to suffer,
and they don’t know why
and they point at me
and they wonder
why they’re losing everything going backwards
tripping on shadows….
I’ll stick my finger down there throat and scream!
Make them vomit up their cold sore cream!
All over their putrid new english wet dream!
“It’s not my fault
that you can’t make sense,
the tracks don’t fit
and the wheels won’t roll!
If you ignore the codes
that the birds dispense,
the broad daylight mine
turns to coal!”
Well....
At any rate,
I’ll cross my heart and hope to shine,
count my scars and align my spine—
I was born with a post apocalyptic mind,
so fuck you all, I’ll be fine.
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