With one hour left I still question rummaging, opening up every door, drawer, even looking under the rugs searching.

It is then that I remember the old baton in the back of my closet.

Reaching for it, it slips through my fingers but I manage to hold on to it running down the street passing it to an unknown soul.

"What is this for?" He asks.

"The answer."

"What answer?"

"You will know when your time comes."

And I walk away with a minute to spare knowing it has just been that straightforward all along.

We live and we die.

Written to the tune of Alanis Morrisette’s Ironic:

You’ve got no plans to leave your state

All that’s left to do is wait for your next Zoom date

Or you get by on texting your bae

Nothing to talk about ’cept the last thing you ate

So this is a pandemic, and it stinks

It hurts my braiiiiaaaiiinnn to think about my last vacay

So I tik tok until the pain goes away

Or I roll the dice and play board games all day

And now I need pants so much bigger

If we play it safe, and just stay inside

Rearrange your booOOoOokcase

And find some Clorox to buy

Clean your whole damn house til it shines bright

So you feel good about drinking wine all night

So this is a pandemic, and it stinks

It hurts my braiiiiaaaiiinnn to think about my last vacay

So I tik tok until the pain goes away

Or I roll the dice and play board games all day

And now I need pants so much bigger

I know what you’re gonna say

That playing Animal Crossing every single day is wasting all my time

Yeah I know what you’re gonna say

That cursing out loud when you think that mute’s turned on gets your boss really on your case

What you wouldn’t give for a kid’s play date

Or let’s be hooOOoOonest, you just wanna give em away

When there ain’t any school you have to do their math right

It’s harder than it seems to avoid one huge fight

So this is a pandemic, and it stinks

It hurts my braiiiiaaaiiinnn to think about my last vacay

So I tik tok until the pain goes away

Or I roll the dice and play board games all day

And now I need pants so much bigger

Yeah I know what you’re gonna say

I had nothing better to dooOOoOo

Yeah well I also wanna say

Corona, you suck

2020, I’m out

Politicians gather in their masses,

The Bourgeoisie lectures us on classes.

Evil minds that plot our downfall,

"On your knees. Begin to crawl."

Oh, Lord Yeah!

In the fields, we start working,

While the Fatcats start to sing.

Death and hatred to mankind,

Smoke and mirrors have made you blind.

Politicians hide themselves away,

Thinking themselves as a saviour.

Why should they pay their taxes,

They leave that role all to the poor.

History is not on their side,

Making up the rules just for fun.

Treating people just like ponds in chess,

One day their judgement day will come.

Now that the world is burning,

The Wall Street Machine has stopped turning.

No more Bourgeoisie have the power,

The hand of God has struck the hour.

Day of judgement, God is calling,

On their knees, Politicians start crawling.

Begging mercy for all their lies,

Judged by those they once despised.

Oh, Lord Yeah!

"She's so dumb"

"Loser!"

"As if you could taste a sound! "

"Idiot"

"She's just so stupid !"

She walked through the hallway, their voices a flash of red and yellow, their faces the sound of static.

*****

"Can't he sit still ?"

"He keeps fidgeting"

"He never stops moving"

"He's just so stupid !"

He walked down the street, his hyperactive brain catching snippets but not full sentences, content in his own self.

*****

"She looks so sad"

"Can't she smile for once?"

"Leave her alone; she's just stupid"

She glanced about once or twice, then walked on, her brain carrying carrying the heavy burden of her life.

I like the little lamp.

Its light hits the coners,

Just so.

Just enough to let them know,

They are welcome,

And acknowleged,

But not enough

To harass.

The light from the little lamp is peaceful.

Warm.

A soft touch of a friend,

Lightly touching your shoulder

To wake you from sleep.

It isn't like the big light at all.

The big light is overbearing.

Harsh,

And blinding.

A loud scream in your ear,

So unlike the hand laid softly

On your shoulder.

Yes,

We are friends.

The little lamp and I.

Soft and kind,

Small and mine.

Warm and reliable,

With just the right,

Amount of light.

What a pleasant,

Little lamp.

Here I stand. A place I promised myself I'd never be again and yet here I am. My feet stood firmly on the ground, exactly the same spot they were before. You see, I'm trapped on the inside, I'm trapped and spinning and spinning with no hope of control. Bound to make the same mistakes over and over until I fall into an early grave and rot.

Here I stand, facing certain death.

as I gaze upon this ghost town

we created, I can’t help but wonder,

what was it all for? did we hope someday

to build a metropolis, but stopped halfway?

did we forget to invite people in,

did we lose ourselves

in the planning of it all?

looking back on the blueprints

I see now that we wanted too much

too soon. I spent so long

looking ahead that I forgot to consider

what we would do if it failed,

forced to live in our burning town,

which crackles quietly, crumbles gently

and collapses upon itself. smells less like

arson and more like missed opportunities,

more like those times I could have held you

and begged you to stay, or when you could have

comforted me when I needed you most.

and yet, in spite of everything,

I don’t think I could go back and do it all again.

that is what you want: you want a fresh slate,

but I don’t have the energy to build temporary houses

from straw and mud and everything breakable.

in spite of everything,

I do not feel regret. it isn’t what we wanted,

but I am grateful for this pile of ashes

and broken dreams. it cushions us

as we lay motionless, together yet

so far apart.

Why is it that

when falling a trillion feet

from the sky into hell,

I seem to have

all the time in the world

to revel in my mistakes?

Why is it that

as I'm falling,

I think of all the things

I should have done?

Why is it that

the world moves slower

when it's rushing past?

Why is it that I

can't find myself

in this haze of silver mist,

where people lie in wait

to kidnap my individuality?

Why is it that

it takes a razor blade to feel?

This is what I think

when I fall into the hole.

The valley, the ditch, the ravine

that I have carved into my wrist.

I never knew I could fall

so many times.

All sublunary proclivities are spellbound by religiosity

A gradually implied subliminal suggestion

To metastasize an unseen authority in celebration

Culturing a fervor for acceptance

And a virtuous submission for some greater good

Imprinting a genetic predisposition

Of subservience

To an occult egregore that casts a shadow over mankind

The masses emboldened by slave languages

Successfully and seamlessly

An indoctrination of countless generations

Under the rule of hierarchical psychopathy

The effects of this accursed Human condition radiates dissenting voices in a growing cadence

To unchain the creative spirit of humanity and step into tomorrow, together

Is why We shed these skins