A Danger To Self Or Others

TheMagicRealist.com

I do not what to be here. I’ll cut to the chase
And the heart of the truth about being alive.
To be made to feel gratitude is servitude
To the aspects of nature that make creatures rude.
So, how come there are apes now? Or did we contrive
Our cosmetic comparisons to praise our race?

We are doomed to the drama. We can’t get along.
Neither pair nor two dozen or whole nations full
Of a vain human species can hope to be kind
To all persons at all times. This serves to remind
Me that life has no meaning and bull has much pull.
Latency becomes blatant with numbness to wrong.

Are we bored? Then let’s argue. It’s all just a game
That we may end up making a fight to the death.
Don’t you dare disrespect me whoever you are.
I don’t like being human. That should leave a scar
On the face of psychosis ‘til its dying breath.
That I’m still here and breathing, I do take the blame.

We are locked in our corners. We each have our views
Of how things must be looked at. This is a good thing.
It will grow to infect us and hasten our will
To engage self-destruction unto nature’s thrill.
If I weren’t feeling dangerous you’d hear me sing
Like a sick sack of suds who has nothing to lose.

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