I am the world—
who are you?
a god of some sort
trying to penetrate me
with your arduous sport
and never-ending money?
I am the world—
what you’re offering
is already in me.
Forgot my legs with your fancy cars,
nature outside, I see now on your TV;
enchained to my couch
pondering the fake world in front of me
seeking a way out of my misery—
so I did call;
the lack of needs I do not need,
the missing mind and heart
beating endlessly in my chest
like a wheelchair I made
and borrowed, then bought
for my brain to sit comfortably.
When did I forget
that I am the world
just like everybody—
concise life of a chapter or two
all I want is your body
and all you need is my money;
when did I forget
I am the world?
Where did it go, my humanity?
where on the hills of innocence
I lost my virginity?
Suckling your nipples like a mother,
and I’m way past my year twenty—
milk poisoned with consumer’s eyes
I replaced with mine and chose not to see
a world being stolen
and minds bogged down a spiral
leading into a chasm of more and more—
to be on top of the world
I need to give in to the tide
and let your maelstrom swallow me,
so slowly I could feel each breath
taken away and each free word
withdrawn like poison—
I am the wound that infected the world—
your antidote’s the answer, maybe.
A day I will die without calling today—
I will have lived the past
and all the stranded threads of tomorrow
but I will have never met today.
When did I forget I am the world?
When did you steal that from me?
You entered a house
of owners as statues stationary—
the first chandeliers you took
then all the light
then all the might
then in my home, you became the lord
for a little bit of sex
and a lot of money, I shut up
and let you be.
Now I am the world
and I am the one
who stole that world from me.