Inadequate. 

I’ve been force-fed this lie my whole life

Distracting me from all my internal strife

Bleeding out, hastily wrapped in a soiled tourniquet.

Indecent.

This world is not what you think it is.

If you’re fortunate you’ll keep living in ignorant bliss

Bathing in the nirvana of the innocent.

Uncensored.

We waste too much time speaking meekly, afraid

Of being discovered in our sham of a masquerade.

I suppose we would rather live with all our prayers unanswered.

All of these constructs,

     Disrupting

             Our minds,

                       Causing our own demise.

                                 We are all waiting for just the right moment to spontaneously combust…

And yet…

Even the best of us are nothing.

We are freaks of nature reveling on a speck of dust,

Floating

Through a seemingly endless galactic river

Which is one of hundreds of billions.

So what does it matter if we’re validated by the rest of humanity?

What if we’re destined to wither away

Without ever again seeing the light of day?

Some find it depressing to know that all of our tribulations,

Our anthropological manifestations,

Our love – flying through the clouds on the backs of doves,

Our beautiful creations,

Every horrible and wonderful sensation

Are simply insignificant.

But something about the notion is somewhat comforting,

Knowing that all of our worry spirals are futile,

Knowing that no grudges are even remotely worthwhile,

Knowing that nothing we experience will be as disconcerting

As existing in a void of darkness,

An interdimensional fabric that we will never understand

While all we care about is the quotidian issue at hand.