We Call Ourselves Gods

And of course I have become so accustomed to the stress that was  a l w a y s  there

The  w o r r y  that always accompanies the need to be busy

The  t h i r s t  to have a cause

I become withered like a weeping willow

Knarled and twisted and weeping for

e t e r n i t y

and bursting from the inside

Imploding with depth and feeling until my skin breaks-

Filth and dirt in my blood

Commotion and noise clouding my constant thoughts-

I need a cause in

the very same society that tells me

To be  a n y t h i n g .

They told me you can be anything-

As long as it’s what  t h e y  want.

I am trapped in a block a prison a box

Of numbers and percentages And wisdom,

no; knowledge

The mandatory concepts

Created by the corrupted human beings

Who call themselves

G o d s .

I resort to

My books

To my  l e t t e r s

To my fingers that ache against the plastic squares which

bring out the true form of my being

The essence of my creation

with  s t a r s  in my eyes

and moon dust in my lungs

I lock myself away in a metal clad box of  i r o n .

I convince myself

I am indeed

A  h y b r i d  running on enigmatic energy

I am one of a kind

Amongst those who believe the  s a m e ?

And thus comes up the sondering thoughts

I am just a concept

Another  t o o l

Built to worry

And stress

Over more made up concepts

I am just…

another concept…


By us  c o r r u p t e d  humans…

…We call ourselves  g o d s .



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