ANCIENT IRON

Rope around my abdomen in platted fashion, I toss myself into the pharma lake to bake my genetic genes

To wean addiction would be a mistake for I feel empty without my medicated cake.

My bones run back and forth through corridors of industrial absolute, the scent of ancient iron makes me tired

I'm exhausted from the thoughts i have become, no longer young, no longer dumb, just a book without an index, perplexed by the absurdity of life.

look at what I am, an old soul trapped within the ideology of an alien human race, cursed to never remember.

I thirst for a new energy that simply isn't there, destined to drink from plastic rivers and chew upon an oil based currency, occasionally dipping my filthy fingers into the devils honey.

It's funny, this existence,  how nobody else can see the injustice of mundane news spewing from a babbling pastor