It comes down to this
She said as she wrapped herself up in the top sheet
There are two kinds of people in this world
Good and evil
Which one are you
I thought she should know this by now

A little while later after the unwrapping she said
I know the answer
I didn't say anything
I didn't think it was necessary

Time gets mixed up with the era
History is confused as something to be talked about in the present tense
Excuses become campaign promises
Mea culpas morph into acceptance speeches

Thinking is replaced with integrated marketing
$50 t-shirts are voluntary advertising
Political campaigns sell a product
Wars allow companies to expand their customer base

Pop culture is terrorism
Exposed breasts rip the fabric of modern society
Sucking on a chili dog outside the tastee freeze is unacceptable behavior

The President cannot pronounce your name
But he wants your vote just the same

I wonder sometimes if she can hear me think when she's sleeping

I realize I've entered the inner sanctum months after I've taken the prize
It's probably something I ate

When I started running over and through the hills I had a clear vision of the finish line but it became blurred as my muscles began to ache and my throat dried up and my shoelace came untied and when I stopped to fix things the hills kept moving and suddenly when I was ready to go again I had longer to run than when I started running over and through the hills in the first place

We are at war with Eurasia
We have always been at war with Eurasia
Take your soma and it will all become fuzzy
You will be worry and baby free for the rest of your bliss filled days

I remember so much but it seems to be someone else's life
Someone else's experiences
This person is not me
When did all of this happen and where did all of this come from

Who are you?
Why are you here?
Why do you let me do these things to you?

You cry out like it hurts but then you smile
Like you want more
Like this--THIS
Like that is what's supposed to happen

He's not saying anything again
His lips are moving and sound comes out but it's all gibberish
All propaganda disguised as intellectual discourse
Presented in the most base and misleading language available
So anyone can take it anyway they want
But if we take it wrong it's our fault
If we don't believe you we are terrorists
We are dissenters
We don't deserve the freedom you talk about
We don't deserve our birthright because we have done nothing to preserve it

I guess I could say the same about You

Matt Worley is not really a poet, he just likes to pretend.