Numb

As I witness life trotting along in front of me

I sit sterile, infected, injected, trying to be

Looking at things from a rear view, wanting them to fade

But my turtle pace is just inching me closer to the blade

Within the design made for me, I try to make my own

But I find myself trapped by it, eroding on the seeds formerly sown

Media throws surprises of relevance every so often

I chuckle, sigh, and let this hard exterior soften

Strange are the powers of substitution

Duplication evades, and yet one finds bound by a social institution

Grass, like the metaphor dictates, remains greener on the other side

As I sit on in the bushes, waiting for my fate to ride