Epic Problems

I wonder the streets of an eerie, desert ghost town, mostly oblivious to my own wretched state of being.

A shadow of my former self grasps desperately to the fragmented shards of happy memories, latching tightly to even the tiniest busted pieces within reach, in a feeble attempt to maintain some form of sanity.

The sun scorches the arid wasteland and beats down on me heavily while poisoned hours pass ever so slowly, intoxicating me from the humidity of despair engulfing.

All that was once good about me, has been yanked and sealed out of me, and then highlighted and lifted above me, just to scoff at me and my pitiful woes.

I gnash my teeth in impatient discomfort as I await each eternity to pass.  Each lifetime equates to roughly seven minutes.

Minutes turn to hours, hours turn to days, days turn to weeks, then I stop caring and drift deadly along in concord with the rest of the crowd grumpily.

Newcomers show up occasionally.  They stick out like a sore thumb, recognizable not of themselves, but through only the contempt one feels toward them.  

The fresh ones still wreak horribly of life, evoking the bitterness of all.  The sadistic warden lets them gloat pompously about in our presence, breaking them privately and removed from our sight, so as not to allow us the satisfaction of onlooking.

Vile pit of wicked boredom tick tocks forth the molestation ceaselessly and in obese abundance.

Sanity looses sanity exponentially when insane goes insane so often that one adapts and learns to cope as though such a thing is normal.

The microchip implanted upon arrival causes impulsive bursts of the will to live amidst dire desire to die, squandering any chances of logical escape from the torture.

The haze of dissent peppers me as it sprays from all angles of this effective military effort to encompass and narrow my understanding to acceptable size for the box they keep it in to maximize the efforts of their production.

Sometimes I catch myself asking, why me?  Sometimes I catch myself answering, no one can hear you.

All the joys of a careless youth are my portion.  I'm forcefed and made to gluttonously gorge upon them until I swell and begin to rot from within.

Each day I eat of them and yet I eat not of them at all, at least, not in a way that satisfies the immortal hunger implanted in me from tasting them in my youth.

Sometimes I hear myself saying, but it's not fair!  I wasn't given clear cut rules!  Sometimes I hear myself responding, it doesn't matter if it's right wrong or fair, it's real!

Understanding continuously bursts through plateaus and achieves new heights of utter idiocy.  Hard wired to hope, in a land hard wired to leave hope empty handed and grasping.

Centuries could have passed for all I know, time is subjective and unreliable as static measure.  I woke and took a hard look at the big picture surrounding me.  I saw the evils of my mind were attached to chains, and the chains went all the way to the other side.

I pulled the chains toward me.  I pulled and I pulled and I pulled.  I didn't expect to see that God was the anchor, but I didn't have enough care to think much about it.  I tossed the whole damned contraption overboard and watched it sink, both good and bad.  Knowledge sunk, and my ship began to rise.

Now I walk the land of the dead as a super human..exploring the vast unending potential of my creative power, reliant on only the broad artillery of inner strength within my possession to accomplish a means, obedient to my own personal moral compass, answering only to my own conscience, and confident that if found foolish in the end, there could be no worse punishment due to me than that which faith issued me, when a perfectionist society implanted an ideal in me, and an acute awareness and willingness to see personal wrongdoing rendered me, when Pythagorus caught me in the triad and forcefed me pie, and I barely escaped with my life.