Surgical Strike
Driving to my designer job
Pondering my authenticity
Ready for a surgical strike
Against the imposter of me
Bay doors now opening
Missles armed, blinking red
Has a non-approved thought
Ever entered my little head?
Missle lock acquired
The target is red hot
It’s hasta la vista baby
Looking down for the shot
Flack all around me now
As I scan below
New Balance, Levis
Countless brands and their salvo
Holy spit, that was close!
My horizon spinning wildly
Am I walking talking billboard
With no understanding of me?
Pulling the nose back around
I’ve got to make this one count
Does our hive mind steer itself
Or is it influenced from without?
And is it such child’s play
Like trapping lightning in a cell
To buy my untapped potential
With thoughts of being someone else?
Pushing this machine to the limit
Soaring high above so many
How deeply have I been branded
By the stamp of authority?
Attention mission control
I’m not returning to base
Just label me a traitor
I no longer believe in this way
But with sobs behind my visor
Fruitlessly slowing near the heavens
I begin tumbling back to Earth
Just in time to clock in
Copyright © The Fringe | Year Posted 2011
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