sore back (a poem by Jack)

I’m tired.. A bit weary.. My bones ache.. And the small of my back is sore.. I lay on the floor of an apartment bathroom.. Thinking..

I’m a liar in a world of truth.. For I’m the only thing that’s out of place, I must be a lie.. All around me.. Familiar apathetic faces.. All itching to beyond survive.. I say beyond survive because death is no way near imminent.. They want to survive beyond their means at the expense of any and all.. An unforgiving world we live in, a place where everyone is right.. No matter the impulse.. Let’s do it now and rationalize later..

Crooked smiles and lying gazes.. They can’t even look me in the eye and lie’s like they can’t help but tell the truth.. One way or another.. Or they walk right by you.. And that’s truth in itself.. Like the homeless man, lying on the concrete in the middle of downtown.. If we walk by him as if he isn’t there, perhaps the truth will set him free?

But he’s already free.. Free from goals.. Pointless goals.. Free from ambition.. Voidless ambition.. Free from responsibility.. Illusionary power.. Because he with the gold has all the power and all the might.. 

The only problem remains is he who has sight.. He who sees it all before it happens.. What power do thou bestowest upon thee.. A god forsaken bore, it becomes a god forsaken bore when you see it all but can’t change any of it..

Who can see beyond time.. Stand up and be seen.. Or humbly remain in the shadows.. Quiet and unnoticeable like the rest of us..
Back aching.. And thinking..

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