Choking

.

Find an escape,

in the words you make.

In the pace you take,

over things you do.

Wish for just once,

we'd realize the truth.

.

We won't.

Gradual progress is the eventual end,

on land we start and never truly did begin.

Stalagtites growing from one small drip at a time.

.

We're transforming thought into externalities,

our wishes into things we can touch.

Forgotten is the inner realms.

Instincts cannot be shoved inside.

Just that voice in the back of your mind.

.

Repress what makes us who we are,

and find some other escape in the world.

.

You're just too late,

Dystopian novels flood the streams,

confusion is in escalation.

So we worship the minute,

savor on our tongue each precious moment,

like the innocent child.

Totally dependent on something,

but not at all aware of it.

Regression, regression,

Massive carriage consciousness.

.

Time moves faster than  it ever before,

and behind you lies just one closed door.

.

You know you will never see this image any more.

Behind you lies just one closed door.

.

Water circling the drainpipe.

Try as you will,

the liquid is on it's way.

Passivity floods the mainstreams,

and each human is more influenced now then ever before,

by others not known directly.

Our throats are full of food,

and we can't tell if we're laughing or choking.

Every land life support system lies in decline.

Every water support system lies in decline.

We must change,

we must change,

The great green sea floats with every being,

every truly alive thing.

All you need is more.

All we need is more.

.

Plunder, plunder,

harvest, harvest,

swallow, swallow,

die.

.

The End

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