Short poem
Trip Start
Jul 03, 2005
1
26
54
Trip End
Ongoing
What is this state of existence that we've tricked ourselves into accepting? This sort of stoic indifference we are taught to be..."never let them see you cry." Who is this blabbering idiot that I've become? Those sounds from my lips...I swear, they were but distorted manifestations of an ill-tempered mind, right? You know, as we all grow there is this pressure to conform. This loss of self, it's nourished through unachievable magazine idols and insane work loads thus, our "society" churns out endless homogenized products of insecurity and worry. Our "shortcomings" become private obsessions that we can't help but pick and pick. We are the miserable by-products of a faithless mass. Our booze-red eyes appear welcoming to the blind, and the repetitive conversation is but the informal guideline for a false sense of security.


