Serve Conditioned, Salt to Taste

It seems I’ve leveraged my happiness,
To a paycheck that comes belatedly ...
Whilst the wilderness within is slowly stepping down,
Into a steady trickle of adult compromise.

Fond are the days I roamed free, full of abandon;
And there was a fire that was repulsed by the idea of adherence,
Throwing caution and picking apart structures meant to shackle
And where all that used to be, is tameness and lamenting.

The effervescence inside killed by spirits in bottles that money can buy,
Accepting nonsensically biased validation of skill and commitment
Regurgitated by the same vermin
That sell prescriptions to wild children to curb the untainted embrace of individuality.

What is this vortex that I don’t seem to remember ...
Signing up for whilst whimsically immersed in young delirious daydreaming,
And now as I bleed my need to escape on the strings handed to the puppeteer
The old road I yearn to travel has descended into a soft melancholy sympathy.

Dreams had never been the answer, dreams never made my bed
They never put bread on my table, never a roof over my head
So do I forsake them for illusions of acceptance and grandeur?
Long enough for the sweeping wave of lost identity to return home to unapologetic anxiety?

But I dream, as I write, the words no longer needing audience or applause ...
Ecstatic with the scars they seem to carve, a swansong of sweet wounds in even lit corners;
Tracing paths of previous strife and memorised coping mechanisms
To remind myself to hurt, to see if I still feel.