It’s no different than RealityTV.
They know the plot;
They don’t know me.
If they’ve bonded over episodes
In love with shared feeling,
Using my bricks to pave their roads
That has nothing to do with me.
And using those reactions
To feel good together
Without ever moving to action
Is no different than monsters.
It’s the same thing.
I’ll never escape the butchers’ shop.
I walked in one side,
Whole and alive,
In all the honest mess of me.
I trusted every goad that led
I nuzzled every hand that fed
In good faith I confessed to be
All I’ve been, all that was true,
I left no part hidden from view
But on the other side I couldn’t see
I succumbed to butchery.
Trapped and wrapped in dishonest packaging;
Just another product of merchantry.
Product never sees it coming.
I don’t remember me.
I try to imagine myself,
But she slips farther away,
She changes her face.
I don’t remember
Who I was…
What I loved…
Was I pleasant?
Quiet?
Loud?
Irritating?
Some people liked being around me.
Others couldn’t stand me.
What was I like to talk to?
Was I kind?
What did I hope for?
What made me laugh?
Do I have a baseline
Hidden somewhere
Or am I all washed out to sea?
When the moment came,
No one cared what happened to me.
I think that’s what killed me.
viewingcamelot 