Planet of Jenga

I was born on a rock in space filled with people who don’t seem to understand each other.

No! We just eat each other, leach each other, and beat each other. But hey, that’s human way.

I’ve burned all my bridges and I’m kinda happy about it. - I feel like I’ve fallen off a cliff and broken an old habit.

But from down here at the bottom of a bluff I like to call freedom - I see my friends and family all persecuting this kingdom.

They all feel a burning in their chest and smells the skin cooking - but no one talks to their souls that are only. Just. Looking.

Oh, the flame rises high but none of them seem to notice - they all stand in blind unison in adoration of the hubris.

Clawing at the foot of the flagpole anxiously awaiting the crumbs from their masters table - all the while a child screams in the night hidden in a stable

When. Will. We. Hear. His. screams?

We’ve turned the world into a game of Jenga with each level being a throat to stand on - we’re fighting over dirt and ash while the blood flows with abandon.

The mother cries on the border as she is denied access - and the father kisses the end of a shotgun while we dance in our excess.

The girl shakes as she is made, naked, to pose, for the man who will sell her for a price ‘cause he says her body is hot, sexy, prose.

The people are poisoned by the ones who’ve come to heal - because there’s more money in opioids than anything real.

And The bride, the one with the answer, hides in her room arguing with herself in the mirror because hey, at least that’s safer

But who is to stifle the pain? Who is to release the smoke from the incarcerated flame that is enraged with at the sight of anyone but me given fame?

Who will save our charcoal hearts and driftwood souls? We are burnt and broken from the top of our hairless heads to the base of our bare soles.

We’ve been brainwashed to think that self help is the answer - But if self help is the answer than why do I feel like a disaster?

Self help is an oxymoron because it only helps ourselves and truly we are the greatest threat to ourselves...and each other.

When will we hear His screams?

When will we hear our own?

Our mothers cry. Our children die. Fathers struggle to survive through addictions lie. Why? Why? Why?

Who will save us from our hurtle towards our self inflicted doom - I don’t really know.

But I heard of this carpenter...