Rigged

25/6/2016

The game is rigged.
The Masters? Masters of shit.
Followed by gaping orifices and white pearl carriers alike.
Following into a bottomless pit.
Hope, love, friendship, courage
Words tossed flippantly, deployed.
Shredding,  torn to ribbons to slow the descent
Once they are exhausted the bearer releases.
No longer falling, they are floated by despair, acceptance and nothing.

The game is rigged
Renamed, redefined, shrouded
In convoluted, witless explanation
The ground melts, floundering, clueless, ignorant
Fruitless efforts to fight the tide, but there is no tide.
Just wave upon wave of emotion
Exiting, disappearing, numbing

The game is rigged
A distraction, an illusion
Music, noise pollution, drowns the senses
Film, manufactured feeling for ignorance, suppression
Sport, exhaustive and taxing. Drained.
Artificial connections, emotions
Emoticons, empty words and chats. Warm smiles.
A crutch to limp this zombieland.

The walking dead
Lead a life of choice?
The dice are fixed
Finding certainty in the understanding of narrow minds
There only exists a life, ordinary, compromised, unfulfilled.
The only joke that ever made me laugh.
We try to live
Not knowing we are already dead.

Balor O'Brien