by Ryan Baxter

Created on: June 02, 2010

(a)pathetic

Never before

have we cared so much

about caring so little.

The stimuli prodding every

brain-cell we have,

every hit and shot

of the opium we take

that we created in a desire

to find a substitute

for our ancestors’ distractions

that were left dissected

categorized and classified

in a house of postbellum attraction.

“Come see the freak

who knows what life is about!”

Every fool

against any answer.

I know too much

to be tricked

into buying your disease

and now, I'm born into our belief

that if sucking poison

from a lacerated bite

is too much work

for something too real,

Shall I be the pathetic jester

who helps the dying

into an ambiguous abyss?

And as the suns sets

and your eyes fall to mist,

the last thing they'll see

is the smile on my lips.

Through them come a chuckle and a guffaw

and a wildly selfish thought,

that somehow, your cold body

reminds me that dead, I am not.

The absentee?

My humanity.

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