The rules of the game have changed…
… since the whole world around me made me sick
I saw all the pots and pans taken away
From the familiar kitchen
To the smelly dungeons of inhuman hypocrisy
Why am I surprised that nothing ever tasted to me?
Since that time
You have been beating the cutlets on the ground
There are so many tables in the house
Why didn’t you use them like any human?
I am not an animal, I won’t eat from the ground
Where is decency, where is common sense?
It was taken from me that day
And I was strenuously asked to believe
That our whole race
Changed to an irreconcilable breed
It’s the same now that I have to believe
In all the rules that shouldn’t exist
Without logic, with the tautology
Of uttering words without acknowledging it
That this is it
Wasting time writing about writing
Who would like to read
That I woke up, ate, and had an idea?
Instead of conveying the actual concept on paper
Never mind, I write it anyway
Perhaps in the future someone would be interested
My heirs, not children, but people who would care
What was I going to say
Even though no one wanted to listen
They closed their ears, eyes, and heart to the sound
Of my harsh voice
Decimated by diseases descended on me
In thousands
And leaving all my enemies untouched
So, I think I have every right to write to get justice
If there’s no other way
Of exposing the erroneous things
At least that’s how they can be transposed
To another level
Allowing an appropriate apprehension
By some who may be concerned
About one life designed not to be meaningless
*
22 October 2021
revised on 10 January 2022
***
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About the Creator
Mescaline Brisset
if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
so you want to be a writer? – Charles Bukowski
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