170708A
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The games
that they let us play
fail to be interesting enough,
so we invent our own.
That keeps a few merchants happy,
showing us forbidden things,
that they keep locked away,
for the chosen few.
Either way
is the same waste of time,
and in the end
another smudge of carbon,
from a burnt out flame.
We know a little less
each passing day,
though the news is endless,
from all the places
we have already given up
hopes of ever knowing.
We forget
what it means
to be touched.
In the asylum
where we reside.
Here everyone is touched,
but no one is allowed
to really touch.
Least of all
if they really want to
touch anyone.
The only option
is an exchange
of one form of madness
for another.
Even that is as dangerous
as body fluids.
Something personal,
to be shunned,
and talked of
only in hushed whispers.
We take one madness back,
and demand another,
from the overwhelmed clerk.
We have grown tired
of the madness we were given.
It is time for something new.
We do not even care anymore
that it was a gift.
I want to be tortured
by beauty,
before I die
and I could die any day now..
At least being torturned
by real beauty
is something
devoutly to be wished for.
If you are very beautiful,
would you consent
to torture me,
so as to satisfy me
with a reality
that frees me in the end
from all those endless ideas
that I was made to suffer.
A starved man
turns to savouring
dreams
as if they are real.
At least there is the hope
that those can be made
more interesting.
He needs a beautiful woman,
as starved as he is,
so they can escape
into a consummate depravity
of their mutual dreams.
Up against the wall
and the firing squad
using water pistols
shoots us down,
until we are dead
in a pool
of our own blood.
The mourners
all pretend
to wipe away one tear
from one eye,
while continuing
their monologues.
The look of surprise
on your face,
is all they really wanted.
As the pistols were aimed.
they smiled
and pulled their triggers.
Follow in any footsteps
and it will all be new.
Something never seen
or heard before.
Every day is a new sky
and a new earth,
though you cherish a belief
that it is still the same.
Going back
was what you wanted,
secretly,
being so afraid
to confess
the ultimate heresy.
What is always proven
is that you can never go back.
and even if you do go back,
you will have changed it,
before you ever get there.
They keep asking
for your surrender,
but you have to hold out,
like a surrounded fugitive,
with nothing to lose
that they would not take
in some other way
if you gave up.
You can drink the blood
from the puddle,
where the massacre took place,
wiping it onto your own body,
smearing it across your cheeks
and down your breast.
Even then
it does not seem real
anymore.
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