Mind Motion

So this is my life?
This pittance, this nothing, this zero?
This box of delights, of riches?
All out of reach, unobtainable?
Like living suicide, self-inflicted genocide.
Mass murder of one's own mass.
Devouring my own flesh.
Destroying my own mind.
What is there to live for?
What is there to die for?
Why should anyone cry for
Me?
(Has anyone?)
(I wouldn't bother
- for me.)
Why does my blood run cold
And my brow hot?
How come I'm always told
To be not
What I am or what I'm patently not?
Sometimes I wish I could get shot
Of my friends.
Those sycophants and self-pleasers,
Those darers and teasers,
Those people in trousers!
Those sexual arousers!
Those 2-D, no 1-D
Who take me and sap me
Of all that's within me.
I'd say, "Oh, God help me,"
But I've done that before and
He couldn't save me
'Cos he don't exist.
But now I'm realising
The words that I'm writing
Are only a fashion,
An important passion
Created by the frisson
Of an inner division.
Devoid of emotion and a lack of devotion
My mind is in motion!