Post-Modernist Stress

i look back
i look forward
i can't see
but i think
i think that i dream
and i see that i can't

it's all new, but still old
it's all broken, and the glue
is in you, but not me
because you're in it
you, see. and i
must know i'm in it

i'm not afraid of the thought, i'm
afraid, afraid of the fear of the thought
that's in me, in you, but not you and me
because we're all blind, though we all easily
can see that we play, that we're big, stuffy slaves
we're denied by our worlds, our own childish enclaves

it's your beat and our rhyme
it's a waste of our time
it's a lie and the drole
truth that sleeps in your soul
but that clock's watching over
not caring a bit,
if it melts off the table
when my psyche is split