Fulfilment is a computer screen,
A mechanical monster.
Inconsistent irrelevant woes as I stand up.
Walking out of doors, the steps I take
Drowned by crushed leaves,
Decaying matter.
Unconscious.
The classroom is calling.
It's altogether a sorry thing,
An envelope of dead weight.
My shoulders collapsing underneath.
Pacing.
In vain the organic truth like a meadow
Tainted with plastic.
Wrapping myself inside until I feel
The hesitant breathing I myself can produce.
An experiment to show me
I'm alive.
"Tonight I'll burn the lyrics
Cause every chorus was your name." -AB