I do not sleep, for I am not tired. My causation could never be so simple. As if it were my basest drive to defy Occam. I am angry. Disgusted, even. Bewildered by a nature I’ve grown to know though never fully understood. Naivety gave me false insight upon its grey, looming gate, its burning red stature, its blue gloomy face. Reality contradicts me. If I understood than it would be below me, in my hands to hold and to own. It chooses instead to lead me hook and crook, deeper into a chasm I claim to own with dominion. It tells me it is mine and I am gullible in nodding my head. It orders me to actions reeking of idiocy and I am naive in shaking my head. Can this be overcome? Am I lord of my soul or is my soul Lord to me? Do my hands grip tightly upon a potential power, or simply a dreamt fiction?
Can I be happy?
Can I lay in safety with warmth in my heart?
Can I look into my own seething eyes and love the coward I see?
What is a man, who cannot gnash his teeth?
Who could be a man, if they are he who chooses existence in fear?
A day will come when I bloody my hands with that which comes to oppose me. I fear I am not a man, for I will not win.
bunjoman 