We got thrown into the insanity of the Real World a little too early.
This World where the order of the day is Order,
And everybody Follows the Rules.
But, We were Wild-eyed Children
Who still used crayons outside the lines.
But, that isn’t how Rules Are Followed;
Colours always stay within outlines.
So they “fit us into the lines”;
Clad us in uniformity to become one of them.
Like the buttons of an ill-fit shirt, our dreams would scream to come bursting out at the seams.
But we’d stitch them up,
‘Try to fit in”, because that’s How Rules are Followed.
The World Is Insane.
It drove us into an unarmed war against our Passion.
Sure there was bloodshed, but we kept up.
Discovered solace in the ashes of the cigarettes that we clung to.
But that isn’t How Rules are Followed.
Reality, like bitter smoke, choked us up.
Now, We bask in the ruins of the Wild-eyed Children;
& The Splashes of Colours that they left on the outlines.
We’re Ordinary, We’re Insignificant,
Clad in Uniformity,
But we dance.
We Dance to the melodies of our Confusion.
It Is A Festival Of Insignificance.