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.
I am standing between virtue and survival.
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.