What is the capacity of our lives?
How much s**t can we fit to satisfy the fetish
Of material commodities
Possession, the
ruler of happiness
I can't resist the overindulgence in this s**t
In order to truly understand our ridiculousness
I would have to
been stripped
Taken away from my ever growing mountain of bits
It's not just a disorder of the rich
It's nearly American to be
stuck in this ditch
Even when the majority is living in the pits
At what f*****g point can we agree that we really have
enough?
As the mountain forges upward, we suffocate in an abundant heap of our own chattels
Assets like a drug, to
satisfy
Sufficiency is a dream
The modern perception of adequacy is a f*****g disgust
Desire is an infinite void with out borders
that can never fulfill the eternal lust
If only we could see the boundaries
Perhaps we would be able to draw the line to separate
what we truly need
Self-gratification seems to come wrapped in plastic
With a price tag on it and every f*****g store seems to have
it
We are told to soak it up
To keep a full cup
And this is considered a blessing
What the f**k?