Michael McGuire An Outsider On The Inside
AN OUTSIDER ON THE INSIDE
© Electric Babylon Music Author: M.M.
Committed by the standing traits of my being, a set of eyes that do
more looking than seeing, a component expatriate of my routine route,
aspiring minions block the light of my doubt, my nerve endings strain
to feed the soul of my nerves, my will is whored for every John it
serves, this makeshift machine creates it’s own fuel, it’s pragmatic
dogma is dogmatically cruel.
Emotionally derelict with an acumen for aching, embarrassed at your
own pain, weak kneed Atlas with a penchant for breaking, weathered
by your own rain.
Luxuriating in the self silence of my apathy, pondering the wholesale
collapse of the death of me, schools of thought and dropouts divine,
know the water is still the kiss on the lips of the wine, though a parcel
of this automated urge, a distinctive protagonist in the plot of this
scourge, the histrionics of the sensational age, just serve to stoke and
vivify my rage.
The habitual numbness and it’s latent effects, politeness of a
stranger’s ego, anomaly so subtle no one inspects, the poetics of what
you don’t know.
With the compressed dynamics of an outsider on the inside, I walk the
ways of the world with only one place to hide, escape is just a hollow
verb; void of conjugation, so leaving it’s subject obsessed in mental
masturbation, and the days are left stacked in some homunculus pile, I
suffer the death of my elders the live long while, unable to write the
definitive study my woe, illusory persona and requisite lies mask my
simple soul.
As time is transplanted from motion to moment, I the observer from
the moving train; outpace my own salvation, and in seeking purgation
in the obtuse verse of my being, I flounder in the distance created by
my dependance.
jan 08
