Less

This disease

this black veil of heavy fabric

weighing down though I know

gentle bliss is but an arm’s reach away;

but my arms won’t sway

something is missing

some piece of the puzzle

reflected in every raindrop;

nature, but a backdrop

to gods of artifice,

walls of nowhere

so ingeniously built;

so why loud noons of cities

should light the empty heart

of every citizen of the skyline;

while with every beat we welcome

the alien empire of machines

that dissociate and atomize

our very selves, broken into cells;

each to our own, each own

homogenized to nothing

to own nothing of themselves

to speak nothing of ourselves.

I see the light, but it says, "I am cold steel" 

"go and steal the nothing"

"go and feed from nothing"

"go, to nothing";

now I am become less than death

for life precedes death

but nothing precedes nothingness;

so I, will cut this fabric and look outside

and maybe I can join those

“some of you”

who look at the stars