I’m sick of this load, most of which isn’t mine. I look to sky and find nothing but contrails for signs.
Made me a beast of burden to carry your ills. But I’ll be damned if you’re going to break up will.
For I have seen you for what you are, a cog in a machine and you’ve pushed it to far.
The brittle teeth are worn or snapped. And there’s no oil left in this 80 kilogram backpack I’ve had strapped.
So I drop it to the floor with a thundering crash, this is not surrender, this is the dance of the flashed.
No longer blinded by your techno tricks, and to end all of this one button needs to be flicked.
So I’ll meet by the beach and wait for the boat that will never come. Then step into the water as world comes undone.
D April 2018