Such things that we get used to.

Them, the terrible Them.

Who we can blame for all our problems,

Who bring us new ones when the supply runs down.

Them, we get used to,

All the things They do.

Dismissing anything and pressing, pressuring destructive, self-destructive

Conformity like wolves. At flesh-scent

We are tempted and we take their equality bait.

Like the idols we're supposed to look up to--

There are few who are truly great. Who do

They think we are, the fools? But then

We are the fools, actors, fiction in the end.

They who design our lives.

They who control our minds.

They who take our pain

And our souls, till nothing can remain

Of us, the ones who only wanted the truth,

Less quote-unquote, and a little say

In the world's goings-on,

Some words of their own

And a way to give them to anyone

Who dares to read them.

Very well be nobody.

I couldn't care less.