Textbook versions of the feel good moments
drift like drugs through our systems, it gets better,
despite the world being on fire
we smile while letting it burn, ignoring the licks,
of flames that burn less than the hope we were told.
Did you see the fighter slip away?
Passed in the night when we slept,
tired of the hell we built for her to fight in.
Arenas where decisions are made with a press of thumbs,
against buttons that connect us in manic technologies,
we are the isolated, having lost the desire
after flipping causes with a card instead of coin
screaming let’s give em hell!
Except we don’t know who “em” is,
our noses too deep in the drugs found on the straight
and narrow paths cut with the razors of a past
so close to touch, but lost with the importance of the next
American Idol’s 5 seconds of fame.
Unable to define the nuances separating change and difference,
what are we going to do?
Living a life we are told means living,
not realizing the wheel we are in,
say to me, ask me, beg me, to give in, to accept,
what defines more, when this isn’t enough.
When living and dying simply isn’t enough.