What God is really thinkingMature

On the basis that we are our own gods...End of story by the way.

This state of torpid thought is absorbing the remainder of my being

The difference between my emotions are growing ever more subtle

As life merges into one long haul of pessimistic uncertainty

I question the importance of my presence here and begin my evening stroll.


As the cars pass by I imagine myself being suddenly forced beneath them

My bone structure being reduced to splinters that scatter into the eyes of the passers-by.

I imagine the penniless mugger driving his blade into my kidney through frustration

My blood connecting the fibres in his grubby clothes as I slump to his feet.


I see the bottles of liqueur mounted up on a surface of empty pill capsules

My head at rest on the table top alongside a napkin reading ‘farewell’

I hear the hitman quietly close the door behind him

As he leaves his first victim and collects his first bill.


I see a thousand different ways to die, so peaceful and so unique

I’ll walk away from all of them, I’m yet to give my speech

Until my message is upon their minds I shall continue my lonely stroll

I warn ye, admiring followers, this is not the way to go.


So change your self, seek peace of mind

You’ll forever burden my ears with your optimistic misunderstandings of life

Even if I could turn back I would stroll straight on

At least I caught glimpse of what I may have become


Your suits, your endless pairs, your fine derrières

Your repetitions of what have been so many times before you

Your lives are so far from an idealistic symbol of admiration

That is the reason I leave this equation.


And so the door shuts as I reach the end of my stroll

Once again trapped within a world so shy of truth’s prose

You’ll eat up their distractions and dream of their lies

You’ll smile when they let you and cry when they cry


And as another sleepless night beckons

I shall rest my head on the last empty glass

A toast to the thinkers, the explorers of mind

Those refused to let their lives pass.


And to those made of abbreviations, and material skin

I ask you this once to allow some truth in

Your paths are misleading through your surrogate lands

I now bid you farewell with my blood on your hands.

The End

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