post script.

It's all gone wrong, man. Everything's been corrupted and destroyed beyond reproach. Something as so simple as loving yourself and others as we go through our brief journeys on this plain. We're just visitors. Tourists who are supposed to be enjoying the scenery and the company of others. We took something so simple and we smashed it into a billion complex pieces and watched it bleed into our descendant's purity, and we did nothing. We're all gonna die, man. Why hand this great gift over to our progeny as it crumbles in flames? Flames we lit because we would rather no one have, if we couldn't have. We were given everything and we still wanted more. We burned this place to the ground because we wanted more. We killed our own species for more. We trampled the scenery and stabbed our mother earth in the heart with industry and the notion that prosperity meant taking from something without giving back.
They ate at the table with kings while millions outside their doors starved. They raised the cost but stripped us of our value. They gave us the scraps  to appease and distract. They gave us shiny objects to look in to while they robbed, raped and murdered us. They put us against each other while they sat on their thrones of ivory and laws and counted their money, while discounting us.
The meek didn't inherit the earth. The earth inherited the meek. And i laugh. I laugh  because all the sheep walking in a straight line, believing they are free, are headed to their own slaughter. Deep down they know this, but they've grown so complacent, and defeated that they no longer know better. They trudge aimlessly toward the hell they created. This is the hell they built, bled and died over. This is the hell they were told they'd never see because they were sold a dream. They were sold a dream and a handful of beans. All they had to do was offer their soul and allegiance to the nameless, faceless machine. They gave their values, dignity, sweat and tears for a drunk promise. And when they had nothing left, that nameless faceless machine marched them towards hell. There was no fight. No dissent.
Up until that final step before they were pushed in to that polluted, fiery ravine they still believed they were free. They believed they were doing the right thing. For some greater good, that was nor great or good. And as they rotted below the machine grew stronger. The machine had more, and with less to share it with. (Not that they would share to begin with.) That brass ring they hung above was nothing more than a door handle to the draw bridge that would crush us before we could reach our promised land. We became the rock garden. The stepping stones. Fighting and killing for what we don't need, because they convinced us we needed. They need us and we didn't see that. We were the numbers. We were the strength. They had the paper. Silly little paper that we let weigh us down. We let drown us in debt. We were scared of their paper. We foolishly wanted their paper. We wanted to be the machine.
And they fed off our hope and spit us back out in to the ashes.
It's gone now, man. The hope, the strength.  The buzzards circle over humanity and i sit on the edge of a cliff with my bottle of pills and a notebook. I never wanted their paper. I was just happy to be here. To visit. They can push me off the cliff into the sea of broken promises. But my hope stays with me. They couldn't kill that. I never had so i never wanted. When I'm old and grey, breathing my last mist. I will shut my eyes in defiance because i never lived blind. My death will mean that i lived. It will be a "fuck you" to the nameless, faceless machine. Even though it's gone now. The last shred of humanity in the world. I've got something they can't take. Something you can't buy, or kill, or discriminate against. I got something you can't oppress. I've got a goddamn soul. And may it carry on through the universe like a lone butterfly threading a needle. I didn't let the world corrupt me.