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I have become thin, a ghost of myself of an age so long ago, at a time when I was unclean, unkempt, unwanted and undesirabe. I have reverted to being subjected high school dread and drama of other peoples judgements and friends spite. I seriously doubt that none would reaally think I ever made a difference in anyone's life. Somewhere at sometime I was told I was full of hubris and foolishness to hope beyond my class of poverty. Now, it whispers to me again, haunting me as I fall into obscurity and neglect. Yet like the starved donkey urged by hunger for the carrot dangling from a stick, I drag a heavy heaping load of good intentions and solutions over a cliff of oblivion, never to be seen in this existence. This more than despair, this is more than dread, this is becoming our epitaph.
Born with a broken back, but I stand up straight. Father's sins visit me after his death, giving me my pain, my poverty, my occasional isolation. Hate looking in the mirror, for fear of being labeled a narcicist. My curse from mom was a rotting mind and assertive personality. The drama controllers have me as a pariah among all, but I was already pariah before I spoke up. Slave to banks, yet punished by never earning enough to fulfill my conned obligation. Collecters demand their money, but do not understand why I do not have any money. Free internet from a local library helps peek at the world. I ask you, why are you reading this? Drama controllers have everyone dancing, jumping, screaming, crying and beating each other to death. They have us stalking, following and falling forever into decaying oblivion. Money does not solve anything, when we can share solutions. We just keep getting scared stupid and fuck over ourselves or other people we love, meanwhile the money manipulators and controllers enjoy our collective torture and exhalt themselves as gods.
