it's bound with microfiber.
it isn't real.
it will bludgeon you
and hold you
when it's through
and pretend it
always loved you
before it sends the
hammer
into the back of your skull
again
with gentle kisses.
all the authority
in the world
can't make you
conform.
all the love
in the world
won't make
you
loved.
all the smiles
in the cosmos
can't bring
you happiness.
it's made of microfiber
and lint
and the plastic they pull
from crude
and it will replace your
skin,
one cell at a time.
it's conformity
and courage
and little things
that go
bump in the night.
it's a horror out there
and it intends to
give you
a fright.
it's rubber trees
and plastic grass
and nylon shirts
and falling from grace
so gently that it's as if
it never happened at all.
it's a hell of a way
to learn,
but it's the only thing
they're teaching.
cleanse the soul
with recycled
water bottles
and grocery bags
that flutter on the wind.
reach deep into the veins
and pull out the heart
through elastic cords
and weep a small song
from the madness
endured
over eons
from the hollowed out
core at your center.
they gift you
their sanity
to swallow
one sip at a time,
but it drives you mad,
nonetheless.
maybe they'll lose it too
and everything will be fine,
maddened through the eons
on fake intentions
and firm values
that were cast aside
like the containers
we buy that house the products
we want
that are dropped off
at your local dump
to be sorted and processed
into new merchandise
we'll drink down
like sanity
before it's recycled
again.
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