They hang on the mind’s rack,
these ideas of self,
like coats in assorted sizes and brands,
to be tried on for texture and for fit.
It takes a lifetime to decide
which is which, right or wrong,
and too many years have come and gone
while the body tries these garments on–
outerwear for the inner soul.
But be prepared to be controlled
by an extra layer of skin to mold
your every groove, to wrap around
your every move.
Every action is subdued,
down to its hair-root thought.
And once bought and paid for
with your life, there is no return.
Though you’ll stand in long lines.
Though your mind will yearn for its lost treasures.
Though your body will burn for its stolen pleasures.
Every minute of your life will have been measured
by how worse you are for the wear.
– P.C. Scheponik