Endless

What’s the point of this?

Being here?

Standing in this very spot reciting a stupid poem

no one cares about?

I should just walk out.

Who the fuck cares anyways?

Well, look at that I swore.

Oops.

What’s the point of being chained down

by authority ruling over you?

With psychological bounds holding

onto your ragged feet

pulling you towards the path they want you to go.

Don’t swear

but I did.

Who cares anyways right?

Everyone here knows the word.

I have not used it to insult.

But why would I be punished for it?

Who is making me go towards the path of not swearing

in a poem?

I’m protesting the poem by swearing

in a poem of protest.

How do I rip off all these chains?

They’re endless

My mind is in a cocoon of metal

shiny like diamonds

How do I set my mind free?

We’re all chained by something.

Grades?

Money?

Materialism?

Why?

What do you live for?

Does this really make you happy?

When you toil through your days working yourself into depression?

People work

Day by day

working until their hands become dry and brittle

little deserts on the palms of their hands

the drought dries the heart and the mind

Becoming the mindless cogs.

Turning with time

Forever and ever.

The machine,

It creates more cogs.

What is happiness?

It seems to be slowly disappearing

as we progress

with our knowledge of maths and sciences

we destroy

our world with our smog and factories

We are greedy

like we’re hungry for something to fill the hole

Black and empty.

We can all just go to hell.

What savior is there?

There is none, it’s all a lie.

We are the demons.

We are bringing hell upon this world.

For what?

For ourselves.

We are parasites.

The fog is thickening

over the cities

the schools

our homes

Can you see it?

Are you even listening?

You’re becoming one of them

Keep turning, turning, turning

Endlessly.

They’re feeding off you

Off your happiness

We’re all struggling

to build

more and more

“Why are they so selfish?”

“Why are they doing this?”

“Is this really what we want?”

We always ask this.

They always say,

“It’s for your own good, my children,”

But what is?

You took their childhood away.

You filled it with equations and numbers

You’re preparing them to become the future cogs of society.

You say you love them.

Yet you refuse them.

Because of their colors, their individuality.

What is the good of becoming a cog?

Creating a hell on Earth.

For them to live on?

You’re a great parent, you’re right.

Always, always right.

What is freedom?

What is liberty?

What are human rights?

What have I learned all my life?

The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.

Girls must be girls

Boys must be boys

Females must produce children?

Males should be celebrated

They are more important.

The sounds of the machine echoes

“Listen to me”

“I am an adult”

“Do not defy me”

“I always know what’s right.”

Is this the powerhouse of our minds?

Stop turning.

Drown it out.

Turn away.

Pull out your weapons.

Paint the colors over the static.

Show a clear picture.

Turn up the music.

Muffle the annoyances.

You’ve been taught to,

taught to be rude.

But be rude.

Let the music flow

Endless colors

the rainbows of defiance.

This will truly lead us to the future.

The abstract art in your ears

Flying it all directions

Bring out the colors

Make a statement

Make it vibrant.

Make it you.

They tell you

“Rip it out”

The music stops.

The world turns grey.

Clouds and smog cover the sunny day.

The colors disappear.

Where am I?

Brain freezes to a halt.

What is going on?

It has given up.

It won’t think.

Why not?

“You’re broken”

they say.

Oh I see.

Their words fly through the air

flowing in different directions

running into each other

falling into a pile of letters

Illegible

“Did you hear me?”

I’m sorry, no.

I don’t understand.

It’s too dark to see.

“Why aren’t you working???”

“Stop being distracted by your colors.”

“How worthless.”

Fake smiling masks appear

circling

There’s a crack.

“How sinful.”

“What an embarrassment.”

“You used to be such a good child”

Laughter.

Another crack.

It breaks.

Gone to ashes.

It is replaced.

Society resumes.

The cogs continue turning.

Turn turn turn

selfish selfish selfish

It’s endless.