The Meaninglessness of the American Dream


The spirit to imbue.

Stands monochrome.

A polished face. Charmed

as sweet as it is grim.

Where the only things that get you anywhere are the things you sell.

Your mind, your body and your soul become the commodity.

Seduced into thinking that that which cannot make profit is valueless.

Confusion between the fantastical and the real where

simulated communication is held together by designer fabrics. Painted in gold.

Jostling to confirm where you fit in. Image fixed. Controlled by uncertainty and doubt.

Big dreams lie exhausted.

Enchantment dissolute.

Penned in suburbs.

Returning to dreaded homes.

Locked into closed loops where the world stands stagnant,

where Heaven refuses to awaken the Meaningful from its deep slumber and

the Meaningless lies bloated and satisfied.

Are you always so dull?

Dust settles on habits tracks.

Moments which are calculated by memory,

threatening to dredge themselves up from the depths of unexplored lives.

To confirm the reality that we know is there.

Acquisition anxiety keeps us dormant.

Where everything we are not is at every moment alive in us.

Where all that I want is out there.

Waiting for me the minute I can say I know who I am.

But they would certainly dismiss this tragedy as absurd.


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