Stellar Hands

Would you mind forcing my head underwater?

Watching until all the bubbles stop and I finally

Have a way to communicate with the mothership

Built out of insanity and cold fusion that dropped me

As a child onto my head, left a scar, and made me

This creature of endless comfort seeking, of hunger

That bows to no amount of reassurance or love.

I need to ask that ship what exactly it intended for me,

Need to know if this is a flaw in the design or if I was

Supposed to be this jittery, this uncertain, this tired,

This fucking angry.

I want to teeter on the edge of death underwater,

Stuck underneath your hands so that I can hear the

Whispering currents say something meaningful.

Something that would explain why all of my dreams

Ended up dry rotting in the sanctuary of my thoughts

Under the necrosing touch of politics that seems

To spread like a disease through every good organization.

That is the fault, isn't it, the organization is an organ

Of endless hunger that devours humanity no matter

Its origin, its intent, its fairytale preaching that seemed

So good as a child that I started dreaming of mattering

On a scale beyond myself as though the corrupt wouldn't

Take that and ruin it to.