(New to series: Progression: These Are The Best Days Of My Life)
You can’t bring me down
with your tiny mind,
running around its hamster wheel.
You can’t harsh my buzz
with derisive words
of hate and dogmatic zeal.
You may think that you’ve found
an answer or two,
to invalidate all that I’ve said,
but your answers are stock,
without substance or proof:
now begone! Get out of my head!
You tire me out, and I can’t make sense
of most of what you say:
your grammar and syntax abused.
Volume can’t replace content,
nor can myth replace fact,
but simplicity keeps you amused.
I am reminded of a fruit loop,
composed of nothing real,
and bright colours artificial:
one could eat the whole box
and be left with the thought
that this really is nothing special.
So I’ll just walk away and salvage
what little remains of my reason:
I’m not sure that you’ll know I have gone.
You will find some other ear to bend
and prattle away until it bleeds:
in the end, you will stand all alone.
