blink the ink from your eyes
and it stains the skin
from parted lids
and the lashes cake in black
so subtle
it is just the same
as the game
you played
when you were nine
and had no sense of time
or shape
as it washed over you
in the most beautiful colors
you have ever seen in your life.
smeared makeup along your
cheeks
like the other freaks
who were just like you
but didn't know where
they were
going
in
the giant ball of metal
we call the machine.
you saw for the first time
that none of it
had any real meaning,
just made up numbers
to represent
a cash flow
made of imagination
and misplaced faith.
you didn't know where else
to go
when everyone else was
playing
make believe
and buying products
you didn't understand
and never imagined needing.
so you blink away
the days
as if they were simple
numbers
like the ones on
Wall Street,
peddling
products and
wares,
but somehow, you think
this has to be an elaborate joke
to trick the masses
into some type of hive mind.
you never thought of
putting faith into
things that never existed
so you rested there
a while,
hoping to find
the bigger picture.
and now as the ink runs,
you can see clearly
where it was that you started
and where it is that you'll end
just like everyone else
making up stories
that never have a clear meaning.
everyone traveling so fast
to an ending
that never truly began.
everyone consumed
with
consuming.
and when the ink dries
the flakes fall free
and you realize
it was all just a silly dream.
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