Meant to consume, and to be consumed
In this, as it is
Where, I don’t read, or think
And consume, as I’m consumed
Where my expressions are limited to
Predefined emails
Expected conversations
Structured mannerism
Heartaches and headaches
Why would a string of my that, consciousness?
Or an absurd profundity of pure reason
Flung and flutter
And move to distant perplexities
Of Idealism
Of poetry
Of hate and rage
Of love and lethargy
I wonder how one can control those, thoughts?
Which remain elusive and untamed
I suppress them, I should say
I tell to my heart that
Listen - you are nothing, but
A barcode
A number
An existential sign
A reflection from the distant Galaxies
A supermarket rat
Meant to consume, and to be consumed
Deal with it!
