Inside, Looking out.

Dear Amalgamation,
you are the distorted memories of childhood quotes;
a VHS tape of overlapping and scratched school recitals.
Father filmed from the corner, near the plug giving power,
but the women in red was blocking his view;
and when he fought with your mother, somehow you knew.
 
So now you feel like a cat on its ninth life;
clawing at death’s leg, meowing for attention.
Too long spent stressed from the boredom of indoors
because outside is an unwelcoming chore.
Shoo little kitty, there’s no room for you
in this finite horizon of suburbia.
I’ve licked myself into bald patches of neurosis;
death’s rot on my purgatory pruned soul.
Stuck with vacuous tormentors playing at victimhood,
unaware of what pain awaits them in hell.
 
When does introspection become narcissistic?
The call of the wild is the same as the call of the void.
Freedom doesn’t come with a guarantee; it’s chaos.
Either accept the risk or admit what you seek is placid safety,
the serenity of monotony.
Indecision and denial simply stutter your journey
 
All those aspirations and successes,
the triumphs and trials.
The hero adorned by sunlight’s armor
will crumble and fade with age’s decay.
Teeth consumed by the sugars they chewed;
passions burn until the cold air subdues them.
Locked emergency exits and wide open front doors,
purpose imposed and unfurled.
A gasp for fresh air entails our despair.
Over eager to transcend our animalistic instincts,
we became machines without souls.
Barren and thirsty,
scorched earth and salted plains besmirched by efficiency.
Life is to be lived but all we do is watch.
No longer players or actors, we’re the cushions of seats,
sat upon by our egos and personas;
they watch the shadows created by our own inventions.
You struggle and strive to simply survive,
to adorn your horns with the thorns of a crown,
the weight of status which threatens with the freedom of obscurity;
the golden cage of the modern age.