In a land of individualism
it feels very lonely
when you are prescribed
a salary, and
if you're lucky,
it pays for a health care system-
Pays for an elite-
bankrupt running the rules whose interests are not in your favor.
This land where monetary value is the measure of self-value
and the rest can go eat cake.
Except, there is no more cake.
Go ask Alice, she'll tell you
there's only a magic pill instead.
Therapists pushing papers
printed each day in favor of
the newest progression of evolution: synthesis of person-corporations!
Their agenda, their life line: keep them buying. Keep them happy
but not satisfied.
Offer temporary relief from the injection of media necessities.
We offer temporary self- esteem
with the newest cologne.
We offer you conditional friends,
who compete with you for your life line,
for the next photo shoot.
And if they have some lingering remorse, they are soothed by the system smiling: That is the nature of the game.
Because we know how to keep you on life support long enough.
Take the magic pills,
they will make you feel better.
Float out of bed,
float over in line,
fade to gray- washed out in the silicone sunshine
of your wannabe apathetic instagram photo shoots.
Inside you're screaming
somewhere, like at birth
for a love that you may have felt from a mothers embrace.
Because the monsters you saw under the bed have morphed into
this America of celebrity politics
and educational debt
this is a society of prescription headed- drones,
of apathy, of immediacy,
this is a community of isolation.
Take the pill. It will make you better.
Fuzzy hard to think
hard to feel
angry with this reality
hard to feel like
there is anything you can do about it
accept sit quietly and
smile pretty for the camera.
Smile big and pretty, alone in your empty house
full of ebay.
Sip on the bottle of temporary life for a night
until tomorrows hang over.
Just take the pill. Everything is fine.