Through their imaginary maze,
They treat their bodies like temples,
Squinting through the fog,
Self-Inflicted haze,
I treat mine like a curse,
Storm days of storm haze,
Self-Inflicted clouds of negativity,
Living for a god,
Looking towards things unseen,
Everything they believe is from a book,
Living for whatever,
Looking at life as it passes by,
Everything I believe is wafer thin,
The puppets of unseen hands,
Unseen scenes of bible vacationeering,
Jesus figurines and money,
Ventriloquists pull responsive strings,
Incapable of thought, they drip of empty rhetoric,
Finding meaning in everything and nothing,
Contradicting my formulaic upbringing,
My dick does too much of my thinking,
Telling all of happiness and joy,
Praising clergy and the "American Dream",
They contradict their love with their selfishness,
The grass can't get greener in the concrete jungle,
Escapism is ecstasy at conflict with apathy,
I just want to get away,
Loving personal microcosms and sects,
Made uncomfortable by nonconformity,
They raise their noses to escape their own stench,
Wracked with data like a laborious computer,
Unable to turn off the brain,
I scratch my head in confusion,
Despising those who are different,
Placing their puppeteers above all else,
They hate my doubt and I,
Understanding the breakage in tattered moral fabric,
Loving the character that it eventually forms,
I try to appreciate them and their ignorances,
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