just fuck-ing BREATH

It's amazing how night after night
my life repeats itself
rewinds
starts again
like some cruel part of fate
as if God is just a small child playing with an
insanely large remote.

I know that I am being numbed
by the things around me
I have two phones lying beside my hand
as I write
a computer that yells at me
everytime it's my turn to call
on this poker game
I can't seem to get enough of

and I remember the day that
I laughed at the thought of
friends hanging out in virtual spaces
as a college professor told me
that this was the future I had to look forward to

The impossibility of such craziness was
unfathomable
Yet now here I sit
alone in my underware
freezing against the mechanically cooled air
that is being pumped in above my head
wishing it was warmer
but too lazy to turn it off.

I'm a product of my environment
of my country of origin
a statistic in someone else's dream
which I call my nightmare.

I've sold myself out by getting old before my time
and
giving up the life I once knew
out there.
On the streets.
In the jungle
bare souls
marching about
lives hanging heavily
over the shoulder
in the form of back pack straps
reminding us of where we were at.

I sit here
reminded of all that the system
has taught me to forget
by distracting me with devices
to make me think that I'm alive
when really I've just slipped into the matrix
of deception that has been built around me
is it any wonder why so many people
can't understand reality?

There is a universe out there
pulsing in through the veins of the earth
starting with the roots of the trees and
migrating all the way up through the sun
itself.
and I
sit here.
Writing.
Forgetting what it's like
to just
fuck-ing
BREATH.