Life

A Poem by Griffin

What is life besides the breathing and being alone? How much of it is really spent living when you're always on your own; you spend a third of your life to yourself sleeping and another third I'll guarantee is creeping from the sideline and the last is that sublime third we all wish for. The one where you're actually talking and those words are wasted on the ones who miss it, they're too absorbed in their own thoughts to actually listen. You eventually lose yourself and become a drone in the thought filled diatribe of thoughtless minds and all you do is sit alone.

You had a childhood where you dreamt of a life you were going to have, you wanted to be an astronaut and go to Mars, you wanted to be a rock star before the roaring crowd you drew and they all dreamt to be you in their childhoods just like you dreamt then but that's not what your childhood is. You childhood is this.

It's an empty world of dreams and ignorant bliss. You're a prisoner to an institution designed to batter the creativity out of your minds and they don't even give you the same f*****g benefits murderers get, you're expected to act like an adult when the world treats you like a child, and the fact is you have the most stress in the world and you're taught not to go wild. There's no youth revolt anymore because punk died and no one cared because no one gives a s**t when I child cries. Your childhood is spent with your family, peers, friends, and teachers killing the thoughts off in your head, you wanted to be a princess or a ninja but now all of your dreams are dead.

Your sweet sixteen is the funeral of your innocence or ignorance or whatever else you want to call it; it doesn't matter anymore because no one gives a s**t. Your dreams are gone and your inner child died, you thought the world could do no wrong but your realized what big lie that was. You figured out what a drug does, now you think that smoking is the only way to be creative, it's like watching a home video of when you were ten, it's like masturbating to what's been, you can't live but you relive. It's like a stupid-switch, you flick it on and poof; ignorant bliss like when a kiss was the dirtiest thing you could do to your b***h. Like when you didn't even know what the f**k that meant.

By the time you're twenty-five your on your own to survive, you're just another ant in the corporate world and there is no revive in this game. Fifteen years ago you thought you'd never go to a cubical working nine to five, you thought you'd have a line in front of the gig but now you've been deprived of your ambitions, you pencil pushing desk jockey, you're just another rendition of the guy who sat at your desk last. You go back to your pathetic apartment after your shift and you have a blast with the stupid-switch until you look in a mirror and realize you're disappointed that you've become everything you swore you'd never be.

You're just a thoughtless drone humming through the life the world made, it's like a factory that pumps out a wannabe ritzy. Your life devolved to being born alone and to you dying alone.