Somebody keeps pulling on the rope to swing the bells
Don't touch it. Don't say it. Don't do it. Don't doubt it. Don't think.
Somebody handcuffs my steps. Somebody determines my boundaries.
Before I fully understand free will, there is a slap on my head
and phosphenes like stars that command my orbit.
Before I can recognize differences, there is a slap on my hand
right hand, not left hand...never ambidextrous;
and time out is isolation without a trial...and I learn
the fear of wrongdoing
remote-controlling my existence,
conditional on demand, predesigned
An aborted freedom escaping into the sewer
trying not to get it on the seat
I'm the observer of other lives, not mine
tied up and chained, in captivity
attempting to prove an alibi
for being alive.
No one cares
not even myself
Somebody pulls on the rope to swing the bells
It's dirty. It's ugly. It's bad. It's poo. It's sin.
commitments, commandments... Commandments, Commitments
Sometimes deception makes them ring in a low tone. Sometimes
I do what they say, and not what they do, and not what I want, and not what I think.
Through fragments of this duplicity,
and this duplicity,
I would be able to rebuild myself,
and Myself, into another hypocritical being;
and the intentional perversion of the self proclaimed truth,
or the liar paradox,
will be sovereign
leading to the use of tricks and cotton swabs.
When the remorseless hours run counterclockwise,
I would be happy through imaginary experiences,
consistently believed to be true.
Would I dare to examine the society in which I've been educated and raised?
Would I dare rip my skin...my flesh off of my bones?
How could I blame them? How could I possibly judge them?
Order and obedience in confabulation...in conspiracy...in complicity
If somebody keeps pulling on the rope to swing the bells
If I'm the only one guarding my own cell
If I'm the jailer, and the convict, and the crime.