Cabin Fever

Dopamine Merchants

5-22-04

On these adopted roads of home I show
concrete what everything means to me.
These flatlines follow me around
with curiosity divine and keen.
What does the world mean to me?

I follow what follows me
and do what it tells me.

Over every inch of who I am
did I ever notice I'd be lucky
not to notice the best and worst about me?
The dopamine merchants are on their way
and they'll have a field day with me.
Deposits and expenitures;
filling me up and draining
every inch of my worth
only to recycle it back inside me
like unleaded gasoline.
The dopamine merchants are on their way
to bury me again.

I don't pay attention.
I pay taxes that destroy the earth.

I'm a war surrounded by a huggable shell;
a conflict of interests and interesting.
I could paint pink a bracelet around me
to let it be all you see
but you'll still hear the noises
and feel the bombs
with every step I take.
Is that what you want from me?
What do you want from me?

On these adopted roads of the new home
the same legs walk the same bitter paths
and sing the same has-been laments
left off on the street by the poor souls,
the bad souls who knew no good.
I'd take a hand to guide me
but I'll need one to slap me
when I fall asleep at the pavement,
dying to do something right.
The dopamine merchants are on their way,
trying to save me again,
wearing gas masks, trying not to
contaminate their stash of remorseless charm
while digging to find my sensitive skin
and sorting through my spiteful flesh
in search of what it is
that can draw anyone toward me.
The dopamine merchants are at it again
and my indifference
is all I'll let them take from me.

If you have any questions, please ask.
It's the least I can do
for being everything I am.