The Product Nears its Expiration Date

What do you think you’re doing crawling out of your box?

We tucked you in so nice and neat,

cutting pinprick holes into this carboard shell just so you’d barely breathe.

Through each gap there’s space enough to cram through enough to satisfy.

Chug down the dose, the hope, the realizations, and call it even on the day.


Categorized, stereotyped,

we’ve drilled a label into your abdomen.

Ostracized, paralyzed,

accept the placement provided.


Do you want to be mad?

Who do you think deserves a wayward pointing blame?

Do you want to be mad?

Who’s the target?


Slash out when a sad man approaches and scratches sprout from your knee.


Analyzed and monitored and pushed out with an assurance and guaranteed debt.

It all seems as though the puzzle was figured out.

This is where you’re meant to follow along.

Do kindly fold your hands together in the face of diagnosis.


So you want to be alone?

You said you couldn’t bear the thought.

So you want to be alone?

How about you stay alone?


And we stand back to watch you toil as you twist away in a cage,

built for you and made with material you provided.

Context is the content of the gray matter that’s been mined empty.

Scream at a blank screen that isn’t answering back.

Worry not, all else have been informed your number’s next in line.

A single drop of blood is a postcard to Hades announcing a ticket purchase.


Maybe you should crawl back to where you came from,

back to where it’s safe.

There was a real world looking in when you were busy looking out

Maybe you should scramble into where your bed has been made.

We wrote the script for you.

We wrote the script for you.


Do you want to be mad now that you’ve got what you wanted?

A little floodlight can hover over the tomb at night.

That small hope must keep burning bright.

You’ll be dragged to the end without a sound.

Until then you’ll spend until you dry.

( ❤ Mitch)

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