We got used to diagnosing ourselves with counterfeit ailments,
which made me wonder if we were not diseased in the mind,
up here,
where it really mattered,
Maybe toxins about all the mistakes we had made were lining up at the door,
taking a deli number,
just waiting to chip away at our synapses,
and take rightful ownership of what was theirs to begin with
The suffering was innate,
after all,
we were human beings,
destined to complain about the trials of our manifest destiny,
instead of basking in our squatter's rights,
The misery was infectious,
smiling became unfortunate only because we had forgotten how to do it,
Our memories were once the missing link in all of this,
now they are the missing link in all of this,
But maybe if we had done the crosswords the way we promised,
maybe we wouldn't struggle to recall the errors of our ways,
The apathy was inherent,
after all,
we were human beings,
destined to die a slow and toxic death,
and only at the hands of instant gratification
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