Status Quo

How is it, I wonder, that I have come to be here


Or is that a question of inappropriate depth

I see a world of faces different but not dissimilar to mine

Perhaps, a world of minds grappling with similar quandaries

How is it, though, they carry on so unruffled if they are

Are these but the placid plastic masks of conformity


Somehow, was I simply wired wrong during assembly

Superficiality to a degree of obscenity

Even our suffragettes appease the god vanity

Right now, stage left, a mother serenely applies lip gloss while her child screams

“Riot Tourist” a phrase only possible in this generation

We shop while our bank books bleed red

We kill for the rights of people we would pass, disgusted, on the street

Even our grandest actions are simply automation lacking all genuine meaning

We used to be people

Potent beings

We used to believe


Now, blanched, like photocopies on a printer low in toner

We are nothing more than the reflection of a mask we paint on each morning according to Cosmo

I’m as hopeless as the rest of you bastards


Somewhere along the line I realized

We used to have dimension

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