A Moment's Honesty
Shuffling, quiet river of people avoiding eye contact with one another or chatting into plastic cellphones, frightened room of wooden desks and apprehension, both afraid to be the first to speak, hurry home to your computer or better yet to the bar. Forget the outside as best you can, but smile in the faces of your compatriots in bondage. Ignore that tugging feeling in your heart that resonates all the way into your guts, making you light another pasty cigarette. Feel alone by yourself, but moreso in public. A walkin broken heart only filling with deeper fissures? What do you expect? Your parents were no different, and they got along just fine. Choose between dishonesty or dishonest silence. What do you want to do, start a revolution? Go right ahead and see where that leads. Do you plan to destroy your own currency, set free the imprisoned maniacs, and eat grass? Even still your best attempts to instigate change only equate to intellectual masturbation. Give up hope or trade your dreams in for something emptier. Go ahead and start pointing fingers; get angry. That's perfect. You'll be an example of how little value the individual has. Who do you plan to indict and who will help you? Who will replace those that you remove, they that agree with or have helped you? Quiet, little fascist. You didn't think you had answers, did you? Funny, they always do. Soon enough you'll remember your place among the teeming streets of uncomfortable, lonely xenophobes. Just remember, that awful feeling of despair you resume is only your own fault for insisting on having feelings. I tell you this for your own good, but remember to do as I say and not as I do.