I know where they are; I can't reach them.
I've never been lonelier, than the days when I am submerged in this crowd--
of writhing bodies, all rotting in their own descent.
I've never felt more lost, than the days when my place is marked on a map;
when I am most traceable, I am least accessible.
But I keep turning around, and around...I don't move forward, unsteady perhaps, but forward--
no--
I spin. Not like a child in a field full of daisies, but frantic and confused...and displaced--
because this is what I am--
without belonging:
neither there, anymore, nor here--yet.
You can't pin me down.
But nobody can. I am unfathomable--infallible. Ephemeral. Ethereal, perhaps...and incongruous.
------
Fuck. I mean really. Fuck. Fuck you in all your glorified passivity; your pretense and apathy. You are the world, and I am the one that falls beneath your footsteps. You are each heel to my neck, pushing me further to the mud. I am this land that once made to serve you--and now run as I may, I cannot escape you. You have destroyed me, and so I am bound to you more than any other. You kill me; you cannot get rid of me, until you perish also.
This is the story they told, so many years ago. It is the story we overlooked when we thought we might outlast (it). It is the story we're to repeat as we turn soil into ashes and back again for eternity.
------
And some days I am so angry. At me..the world...at everyone and everything. I don't pray/ god is a fallacy. Spare me your wisdom, I'd rather decay in ignorance/ right? Well, they tell me, somebody's got to know it all.
Let me know when you find them. They've got the weight of it (sic:"cliche" the world) on their shoulders; they'll be a hunchback to the floor/ cynical and bent on exemption--from it all.
