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A Piece of Typical Landscape
I fear the hand that scribes for me
It's polluted and so toxic, it repeats itself
It cries of its injustice, its lack of harmony
It begs me to do something right
I stand here every day, frying it to bones
Without any other choice
The jigsaw that's become me, I try
To solve and remove it, without fail
I'm left stumped with each afternoon
Beyond the veil of tones and lunacy
I twitch for hours, like an ancient machine
That struggles to mend its twisted cogs
I lack, I crumple, I stand to fight once more
Constantly running on empty
Without a source to inspire me, I'm simply here
Like a household appliance
Like a gutter on a rooftop
Like the nothing below your feet
And I've no idea what to do to save myself,
From this monotony
I've tired of the begging and the pleas for release
I'm constantly moving and pushing towards my goals
But my doubts are so clouding, so cliche
And that's all I'm becoming
And that's all that I am.
