Obsession

It’s hard to be original,
When every word is scripted,
It’s hard to be comfortable,
When every move is counted.
Who am I supposed to be?
When you fit me in a frame,
Dress me up, doll me up,
Tell me what’s my name.
This world’s a show,
You’re the puppeteer,
And loving words will flow,
But they’re all empty.
What happened to make only a few remember,
When did we all surrender?
When did all our faces look the same?
Was it the day we became technology insane?
Mask one,
I don’t care,
Mask two,
It’s okay,
Mask three’s getting a crack,
Mask 4 is never coming back.
I’m good at pretending,
I’m good at forgetting,
I’m good at letting you rule my world,
You see, I’ve gotten used to it,
Playing along with every stitch I get,
Watching people dying in the germination,
Never realizing that you were killing creations,
Crowning you the king,
Worshipping your every bling,
Subconsciously missing something,
Knowing without learning that we weren’t feeling,
And maybe someday we’ll realize that we need to be thinking,
So that the very thing that we created,
Won’t make us crown it king.