Corruption & A Long-term Commitment: Poetry


Time keeps moving and proving that though you may want to stay in this place it just can’t be that way, so you cut through the noise, searching out little joys, the love, the fun the laughter, but where is happily ever after? Does it all even matter? It’s all idle chatter, useless putrid fodder for the brainless nodders who use a sense of complacency & pretend it’s really empathy when it’s all just redundancy.  Those who can’t seem to ration even one ounce of true compassion, who follow in sheep-like fashion to avoid taking action, the shallow, nameless faction that avoids a genuine reaction- these are scary creatures those who excel at schooling features to cover up their lies with pre-planned alibis because they still hide a deep, dark truth inside. They use and abuse the sheep as they keep on lying, with more lies that are lying until they reach a moment of truth, something that gives undeniable proof that they are as human as me and you and that the facade is so flimsy we can see right through. Until the pieces crumble they will continue to fumble and stumble through the webs they weave as people they care about start to leave and the world stops offering a heart on the sleeve. Shedding the false is the only way to grow, be aware, be prepared, they won’t silently go.

A Long-Term Commitment

I am alone, all is silent and the noise is deafening.

Darkness envelopes me and leaves me naked, cold, and utterly alone in a white, lifeless concrete room.

There’s only one way in and no way out.

A whistle in the distance startles me.

“Last call for passengers!”, yells the conductor of the last remaining sanity train running through these parts for a while.

I know nothing of the sanity train, as I’ve been traversing by way of the crazy train for all these years.

I listen for imaginary figures as they board quietly.

I envision them with baggage and smiles.

I am trapped in a maze and swarm of rampant, ruminating brain cycles.

My brain feels like 15 different personalities are fighting to the death within me for dominance over this shell.

Attacking my own psyche, I become deranged to the point of screaming, hoping to shake the fear and considerable instability inside.

As I rage on and on for moments, hours, days.

Time becomes flexible and relative as if I’m transcended to a higher, crazier plane.

I’m forced to stop by raggedness that drives me to choke; my voice, no longer able to handle the agony of my turmoil.

It’s now colder, emptier, even more silent, and ever more lonely for the lack of my own company as darkness falls.

The silence is deafening as I place odds on who will win the war that never ceases.


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