I’ve spun the marry-go-round hard.
Wrapped my legs around the bars,
Trusting momentum, back to the air
My arms flayed, chest to the sun.
Vision blurred, head in the stars.
What I haven’t done to feel.
We’re the cradle generation,
Ladle up the alphabet soup.
Rock stars of our imaginary worlds,
Pebbles and moons in our cereal,
Life’s just too hard.
Holding hands with hedonism.
It wasn’t meaningful enough for me.
I sought the satisfaction of abuse,
Still got bruises from human roller coasters
Boredom induced masochism.
Finally I called, “Truce!”
I’m done with Ego masturbation,
Convenience based morality,
Games with human names.
Starting from the ground up,
Lets build something.
~ Mike Messenger