A cattle of assholes. They stare not knowing,
understanding very little, obsessed
with their jobs and how “great” their lives are.
It’s easy to scowl and jeer at those different
when you’re all the same. I don’t need
a relationship when I have total control
over space. Only certain things matter,
and I’ve found them all in a single place,
flashing with life. People will pass, only a few
understand, but even fewer will ever see
what I truly am.
People pass into the folds of something
without recognizing your insignificance.
You’re bold in the manly multitude
of pale Bogarts blocking the soda machine,
feigning evolutionary perfection behind
a bag of Cheetos. A spirit of confidence
unleashes into an argument
over whether Star Wars is science fiction,
or fantasy, and the girls don’t matter
when you hide within an army of Titans
fighting evil on an empty battlefield.