Under My Sofa

Liberation

The paper of life is drawn pre-lined

With expectations society defined

Realigned, confined, remind me they're fine

Those lines that we take as signs

Are not divine, not a god's intervention

Just human retention

Of ways to quell dissension

We're writers, we wring our writhing hearts to restore words to paper

We think we're impressive but we're dissipating vapour, irrelevant labour, ignoring our neighbour

We were supposed to love them, that's what Jesus said, but we got it into our heads, religion is dead, the direction we're led

We aren't poets, we know it, we're failed usurpers and revelling rebels that thought they'd made their way through the seven hells, while ignorance swells, forget the gospels, silence the bells, and the preachers as well

Damn us all to hell

Lines, lines, inside every mind, a grid-work of expectations, starving nations, failed relations, poor imitations

Verticals arch to an archaic infinity, craving anonymity, breeding enmity

Turn the page, whirring rage, deplete the Stone Age, disengage

People are tools to write a machine, your hands are clean, bitterness seen, times are lean

Kindness is a commodity, somewhat of an oddity

Honestly

Stick with the lines, use me, abuse me, profusely

Write out my heart, tear it apart, into art, make a start, poison dart

To the chest, cry distressed, get some rest

No matter if you go up or down, the lines are drawn into a frown, on the forehead of free will, stand still, aim, kill

Disillusionment takes a chance, I'd ask you to teach me how to dance, correct my stance, your pen's a lance

Care for yourself before the population, disregard creation for imitation, but that train has left the station, we struggle within the lines' limitation

And call it Liberation

***

If anyone can make sense of this let me know bc I can't. Since it's technically the 12th where I am, I'm publishing this VERY early in the day due that the fact I'm really busy later.

Have a good one.

Alex xxx