I see a downward spiral, taking the shape of a tornado
Its pitch-black turns lead to a pitch-black bottom
It spirals into control, at the eye of it, where I’ve built my chateau
Ersatz home, fancying up for myself- a room without problems
Can anyone else see it, at all? Are they blind to the despair?
There’s a tragedy about to occur, and I might be at the heart of it
I see a man, speaking into his device like it’s an urgent affair
But even he’s laughing, little breaths of huffed up laughter that un-befit
It seems so nugatory, how could he be so blithe?
For if he’s laughing, it couldn’t be anything serious
It’s only of the sad, and the angry, that havoc reeks
Anyone that gives joy more importance is delirious.
Somehow, there’s a crumpled up paper in the back of my head
Like someone tried to throw it out, but couldn’t- they missed!
It’s a list of all the things I MUST do, the things I just HAVE to- unless I’m dead
I can’t escape it, the list thinks- But escaping the list is on the list
Right now, in this very moment, I can feel the paper burn
I can see myself turn it into quickly dying embers
Lighting the pyre for the world I’m about to destroy, unconcerned
About anything at all, but my fatigued temper
I suppose this is what insurgents are made of
A burned list, a heightened sense of What if I just don’t want to?
Anger, pure anger, and perhaps a tinge of love
For pure animalistic freedom, from the Must-Haves and the To-Dos.