Ego Death

Maybe if I ran out of words,
forget why I first placed a pen
on the page,
maybe if I just age faster,
perish and get plastered on
a graveyard,
wait, this poem is not meant
to be about anyone, it's
an ego dying, maybe idiocracy
may suffice,
or just place a price on my art,
forget applauses, abandon language,
sell my over-exaggerative expressions,
forget trying to invite you
into my mental wards,
extinguish the me that receives
praises from masses,
mass-effect, is any of this
effective enough, should
I take advantage of this craft,
maybe I'm a populist, exploiting
you of your emotional experiences,
"change your stance Eugene,
don't say that", well is it a lie,
am I trying to overturn tragedies
into a bit of comedy, or is it me
finding personal remedy in
exposing your tragedies,
is any of this about passing on
some celestial energies or
currassing some celestial bodies,
I rarely believe in what half
of my readers believe in,
I'm more of one dimensional
than most of you,
I fear living what you consider
to be life-like, I spot the
darkness from my window curtains,
while most of are deep in reality's inception,
so is this an attempt of promoting
do I change anything rather
than your mindsets, doesn't all
of this just remain in your minds
as you claim to be set for life
or maybe set for the graveyard,
maybe darkness truly demands
the existence of light, maybe
I'm the moon reflecting some sun,
but which one is the sun...
How cosy is the dark,
I've repainted your minds,
I've swept out your memories,
cut your neuron strings...
Does it sting now to lack
any common sense,
how tense is this mental stench,
how dense is an obsessive thought...
You cannot run away from
these fonts,
cover yourself with a cloth,
hide within layers of superstition,
at some point I murdered your emotions,
extradition; imprisoned in the
mind now, the heart seems to
be devout of this art,
you're not really smart,
are you ready to die in
my palms,
no longer caring about alms,
you claim to have been freed
from routines and no longer stranded
in the workplace pulpits,
Do you need me to murder your consciousness,
just because I said it's a weakness?
I'll recite an orbituary after
your ego has perished
in my arms,
I have peeled myself enough
to reveal perfection,
tired of having mindful sessions
with an intention of emancipation,
you're no longer afraid of any opinion
that shadows your mind,
I'm tired of toying with your
adult life; what else are you
searching for in these expressions,
is insanity from a poet an exception,
disruption inside, the tide
of voices drowns your
listening skills,
now you have yourself to
be the terror that explodes inside,
let's applaud the insanity
you have grown so much to,
now this perceptive room (mind)
is too dark to even light up,
you're barricaded behind
the stanzas written by
your favourite scribe,,
now you're a caged bird singing,
too self-aware, wearing pride,
ego flies above your skull,
let me pull you out of your
own fall,
now you're full of yourself
in your head,
shredding yourself apart,
it's all about self lately,
too much self-love enslaved your mind,
so let's peel your identity and
leave bones and meat patches...
So, do you still feel
like following me on this path,
aim I still believable in your minds,
you merely know the person
that I let you see,
maybe we should all just
flee from me, maybe I've
always been right that it
scares you,
maybe I'm the scare-crow
preventing you from harvesting
the manna of true human nature,
maybe we should all just
erupt and explode into
immoral unethical corpses,
has ego died yet, or maybe
it was never meant to die,
maybe ego is your Savior and
it will again rise on the third day,
or maybe we're merely strays and
you've just followed the wrong cat...
By Eugene 'Philosophisticater'
Artwork by Ken Kaneki
Philosophistication Poetry © All Rights Reserved ©

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