this prayer, is my last

if all the trappings of the world

go to people who set traps

and imagination, romance, and the philosophy of sages

don’t change the game

and we are controlled by chemicals

and live for the next high

Who are we, really?

My internal echo chamber of happiness and pain

has little to do with this game.

Perhaps, words can make you want to win—

victorious,

in riddles

but if society, can’t solve you

and gets confused

what do you have, but your own self-created name?

So many people, just want to lose

they don’t make the choice

because they don’t have a chance.

I have to rely on magic

because,

what else is there?

A perfect plan, is a predictable path

I must transcend

beaten roads

and beaten men

and be a master of no man

respected, by every man

Unbeatable

chained

and laughed at

Even with my eyes removed

I see.

My last wish, is to choose

to find strength from somewhere

I never knew

and bring down this roof

on my enemies.

Who are they?

My own inadequacies

that root me, in reality

like poisonous plants

without them, I wouldn’t feel

what I need to feel

they torment, my soul.

Maybe we are praying to ourselves

when we try to cast a spell

with our words.

Pre-written formulas

make us manufactured chemicals.

I don’t care

if random mixing

is dangerous

or down-right foolish

I can’t be, what is already there

I want to write my own life

say my own words, and watch the world change.