The BIG MACHINE

I retreat to my darkness,

AGAIN,

Hoping this time I’ll stay, hoping this time there’s no rebirth,

But I emerge, once more, pulled back into the big machine,

Still here, still turning,

Just another gear, nothing more,

Just a spoke, spinning on this endless wheel,

And it keeps spinning,

So many tomorrows,

So many roads, and none of them end,

None of them stop long enough for me to remember how it even began—

Was there a beginning?

It feels like a countdown, but without a timer,

A journey to zero, and no way to measure it.

If I could just have more—something more than my name,

Maybe I could live—

Really live—like the wind,

Free, unchained, unknown to this big machine.

But I’m still here, serving a master I can’t even see,

A master who’s a thief, stealing my destiny piece by piece.

I didn’t realize it until it’s gone.

He’s a trickster, planting doubt, distorting my truth,

Making me question everything—

Who I am, what I’m worth,

Whether I’m worth anything at all.

What do I have to offer?

Nothing.

I’m a waste of space, a waste of skin,

A waste of purpose, and the trickster grins,

Because I know it’s true.

The big machine always wins

But, dear stranger—

This is not a plea,

Nor a cry for help,

Just words,

My release,

Maybe they’ll help you.

I hope they help someone.

Because it’s time for me to rest again,

And so I retreat, once more, to my darkness.