An anonymous poem

Six a.m.

We lie, lying on these zero-slopes, lying to ourselves

Unencumbered by the light that forces us to face eternal gloom, we zoom-

Out of reality, leaving it a speck, horrifyingly tangible yet so far down repressed:

Like a spring it will take rise, but relish as we must the intermediary time.

We ourselves are poisoned, poisoned by our beds to which we cling,

Driven by our quests for an escape.

How injurious, impactful would it be,

If to our beds we were forever chained?

If from the hapless world we could escape,

Escape the acid-soil from which we were once grown?

Why must we not live shielded,

Elude the light that lifts us from our ill-achieved content?

We are drowned in illusions imposed,

Our inherent destiny lies beneath the air;

Is that why we’re pushed down from our first day?

Are we corrupted by our beds, caves,

Or like the savage do they sterilize our brains?

Does the outside strip us of our purity, does it poison us?

Or are we poisoned by ourselves regardless?