you’ve never fooled me before and never will

y—

y—

you uuu.

you’re a fool.

don’t excuse my french.

leave it bare—brute, crude, rude—

like a parisian.

you’re a fucking fool.

you tick-tack and click-clack those keyboards like they know you 

like knowwww-w youuuuuu

who you’

they can only spell your name, and that’s about it. 

like that’s it. 

don’t tell me shit like they bought you the life you live 

like they wouldn’t be someone else’s if you didn’t cop ‘em.

they arrrrre not you. 

you bury yourself in them to run away from you.

—the “you”. 

like every other thing you’re running away from.

your keep won’t hold them back for too long 

and that moat will be filled with rubble 

of your very own ruin. 

wwwwHHHo are you?

you were once you.

thissss new you is nothing but a pitiful, dutiful, mournful, unwatchable TV show. 

a main character in a plotless story. 

does she know?

does he know?

do they know how dead you are?

hmmmmm mmm.

even those with the key to your inner chambers

don’t know

won’t know 

you’re dead.

you’re nothing special 

like a caucasian strutting through a “poor” country

adorned with that “privilege”.

the earth weighed you, 

the scale did not stutter 

when it read your nothingness. 

the world don’t need you 

don’t let those dreams deceive you,

numbers lie too,

even the book of numbers isn’t about numbers. 

none of those books you read will save you 

not even the god or technology 

that you spend your hard earned trust on 

can give you a warm hug now.  

you’re fading away 

—slow and —silent 

and no one’s got a kobo of fuck to give.

no one sees you. 

you’re nothing. 

what’s happening to you?

you’ve been silently, sobbingly brooding over the loved ones you’ve lost 

yet incognizant of your own self-loss 

self weathering. 

you’ve been losing yourself since i know you. 

what’s left of you 

is a shadow of your shadow,

of your shadow

of your shadow

of your shadow

of your shadow

of your shadow

can’t even tell if i’m stepping on you 

right now.

was it worth it?

l-l-l-look at me. 

look me in my eyes.

nah! the colonizing scent of your cologne won’t let you 

it has shrouded and muffled every facet of your being 

do you remember you?

or the shame that numbed you hasn’t given you permission yet.

metaphorically similar to the failures you’ve imprisoned within. 

what’s wrong with you?

those labels you wear on your forehead 

like a badge of honour 

is shamefully a badge of horror

deep in the endless abyss beneath your inner you. 

they don’t define you. 

they don’t describe you. 

—mirage. 

that’s what all their failed attempts ever were. 

and future attempts will be. 

and the……….. FFP2 mask

take that shit offffffffffffffffffff. 

do you think that you belong here?

you want to belong,

you really want to

you long to 

you feel you have to

but you know you don’t. 

they know you don’t. 

they won’t say it 

but they know you know 

that they don’t want you. 

their dictionaries are armed with unvoiceable nukes,

but only carelessly sheathed. 

while their actions wordlessly and tacitly 

stabs you with the message 

they won’t say out 

because they know you already know. 

you’re smart enough to know

you don’t belong here. 

you don’t even belong to you. 

your body is borrowed and shall be returned 

when the repayment is due,

how dare you even try to belong here?

what do you have?

what do you have, you fool?

the new house you bought,

—houses???

the boats, sorry —yachts,

the mercedes-benz amg gt 63 4matic+. 

the skyline apartments 

or the cubicle you live in 

with that ssbbw bank balance you’re married to. 

leaving “—your” —friends and —family enthralled, 

transfixed, mesmerised?

maybe the word is compelled or magnetised 

or an uneven weave of all them. 

led by the diamond chandeliers

for navigation’s sake

they come for the banquet. 

but it is a —phantasm. 

a phantasm. 

you can’t have it all.

and even those friends who wear the name sincerely 

how many hold you as dearly as you do them?

what you have don’t have you. 

are you not dead yet?

you wake up from your grave 

completely zombified

meander through your day rather routinely and ritually

then you recoil back to your grave. 

—dead alive. 

press “r” for repeat. 

the wind speaks beautiful nothingness into your ear. 

the water bodies waves hellos,

then goodbyes with a sigh of relief 

when you leave,

after your irregular ritualistic visits. 

the sun sees it all,

but says nothing as as —as usual 

that pompous braggadocious fool 

blinded by self-proclaimed impartiality. 

the earth bears it all,

the very weight of all these foolery. 

regrettably, unfortunately and inevitably,

she will carry you still 

when you will fall asleep 

in her bosom. 

darth fader!

don’t sleep on me. 

don’t you dare sleep on me now!

wake the fuck up

wash your face 

don’t you dare look away—

lock your eyes on mine. 

bury yourself gracefully.

when done,

storm the central bank of the winds

and steal those wings.  

this is it. 

die or die just to die again 

what a fraud.