Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Oh, Come All Ye Faithful

It's weird, That promised land of fortune and fame and opportunity, is not what it was before, when the masses crowded around the gate, with nervous glances up at lady Liberty, majestic and meaningfully perched on her throne. Then, then it was real; an outlet; an escape from the suffocation and torture. But now... now it's just the haven for sloths and bigots and the gluttons in some Pent house flat they pay a ridiculous amount for in order to hide their lack of personal attraction. And they are all alike. Uniquely alike. As if the same person is staring at me through a thousand different eyes. Their eyes, bloodshot and baggy from continually putting up the painted wall they allow others to see. A wall with flowers, pink and blooming, and newly unbraced teeth with silicon covering every humanizing blemish they had. The real people, trapped behind every single wall scream in vain, want release. But, out of fear or self consciousness or tragedy, stay put behind their brick walls with paint and flowers and masks. I too, had a wall. Mine is newly been taken apart, brick by prosthetic brick, until there was nothing left but a pile or shadow at my feet, which people stare at, and jeer, and mock... "is that his wall?" they whisper. "look how ugly he is." They boom in full voice, laughing till they cry and conformity squirts out of their noses. Wall gone, partition between myself and the world successfully dismantled into a worthless, steaming, stinking pile at my feet,which I kick and push away, but which flows back to me like a stream of unwanted children. I scream at my abortions, and kick and throw with all my useless strength, but they come back. always... begging me to build them up again. "I won't" I scream over and over until it echoes of the rock faces and sings back to me. "I won't." "I won't" "I won't". And the rocks sing true. I have found a place in this world where all people walk, unburdened by the unwanted, brightly painted brick, as I possess. To stay here would be a heaven... heaven forever without so much as a handshake given without permission and desire. Desire.

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