Between my past and my end
Between standing up for elders
Or keeping my seats on a train.
Between my obsolete references to Bon Jovi
And my failure to understand Halsey.
I am standing between red and white,
Between a strange homeland faraway,
And a stranger motherland where I stay.
Is it an imagined post-1998 quasi, pseudo acceptance,
Or an undying pre-1998 anchoring of social violence?
I am standing between God and Devils.
Between a clustered pure upbringing,
And blood sacrifice's dark hymnal singing.
Between a belief for benevolent transcendental guide,
And a hopeless, endless, remorseless torture ride.
I am standing between pleasure and profit.
Between a force to sink in virtual joy,
And a force to swim in capitalistic paper decoy (or are they but one?)
Between innocence probably long gone,
And normality without novelty.
Between the flaming rage brought forth by oppression,
And passion to burn the fires of ambition.
Between solemn comfort of, to others, giving a piece of life away
And numbness that make me alive for another day.
I am standing between people,
Who stand between people,
Who pull together each day's troubles,
Who walk on a tight and fragile rope,
Who cling to illusions to breathe in their make-believe hope.
January 24, 2018. 13:15
On a train, a middle-aged woman gave her seat to an older man.
Camusyphus is a pseudonym. He only writes when he feels melancholic.
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