The Means to the End

It’s an avalanche; the cascading falling
feelings toward madness, toward what
we think is madness…a serious leak now,
reality seeping out at the seams…all for
thinking that what we have is forever,
is indelible, is stained on our souls

it isn’t
never was

Funny how small creatures imagine big
futures, believe endless fantasies built
by flawed men with absent credibility, with
nothing more than what anyone else has;
ideas only, facts few, charisma and
promises that can’t be fulfilled

not now
not ever

We stand at the center of ourselves and
always have…although we agree that
standing with others; people friends family
tribe town city state country is a good thing
is worth the loss of us (as us) we can’t
escape our inner self, our voice

speaking now
for always

The end state, the trick the means to the
end is to be that voice that someone/single
specific/special/unique and agree, agree
and agree again that we are the same just
different, just a variant of everyone…just
enough to quiet the madness that

they are
will be

In a manufactured reality, in a plastic world
of promises and conversation all directed
at hiding the unnaturalness of being coherent
units groups tribes towns cities states and
countries; we suffer the avalanche let it flow
over and around us while we remain as one


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