Are you listening to the propaganda dear?
the one that screams of yesteryear and beers--
the one that says your possibilities are finite,
that your mind was designed to be a nihilistic struggle,
that power and joy is reserved for those with divine right,
the one that urges you to be plain and humble,
to allow your own life to crumble.
Are you obeying your obsessive mind dear?
"you can't slough off that cloak, lighten that flare,
"and your feathers crumple by the matchbox's tongue."
consume and criticize, you cannot act in that manner
a fool is what you are, and a fool is the one they laugh at
unlucky is the poor and sad man, doomed to feel the dagger
only are the rich and confident blessed to get drunk in glamor.
The most I can do is peer through this tiny keyhole,
The one your ego rebutes and depresses your soul
So you sit half gone in that plush chair,
Suspended between two separate worlds,
Whining for a savior to rescue this shell of a man,
A dangling cigarette in one hand and the other clutching pearls,
Are you a victim of yourself, that hope which no longer stirs?