The American Dream
The sun is always joyful
in this plastic-perfect town.
The summer’s always idyllic and everyone’s golden brown.
But as someone new with fresh perspective: there’s something off about this place- the mailman walked by with a painted smile upon his face.
No matter where I go, people never seem to see, that the only one creeped out by this is always only me.
I don’t think they realise what a simulation they live in- programmed to ignore the cigarette smoke in the kitchen. The world’s evolved but they still live in a golden 1950.
Why can’t they see the flaws and obvious gaps in their logic? Am I the only one who sees the drinks and thinks ‘that chemical is toxic’?
So if you can hear me over the Cold War propaganda, look at the bloodstained picket fence and step away from the nuclear reactor.
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