Baby-Talk Poem by Ghost Legend

Whoa, that's over.
Tried again and failed.
Guess the job was never ideal
For my talents, my will,
And so it is the wills of others
That now determines my fall.
And I'm aware of it all,
Every dawn and nightfall,
In how the years stroll about,
Leaving me not much but worry, doubt.
Doors that close, never to open, no way out.
Nothing and nothing but more pain of loss
Of what I have left.

Failure of failures, what's next?
Can't even connect to an audience,
Too abstract, too conscious, too imaginative
A subconscious
Loser.
Poetic genius of idiocy
Just like everything around us-
Smokescreens.

And that's why I'm baby-talking to you,
Trying to phrase it to an approximate level,
So that my inability to fit in or stand out nulls
Itself, and I can reach a hand, bow, and whisper,
My mouth mumbling this insane rhythm
That no one should listen to.

But I'm smitten!
Glistening in its fiction, it's moronic, faux wisdom-
How the high and mighty voice misses every detail!
It fixes me for a second, and I feel like I'm winning.
I feel like I matter a bit, like if I could make it,
Like if there's a reason for my making,
Like if we're not apes on Earth untamed,
Like if the energy that created us isn't evil,
Not God, not named, just a frame of something
Harry Potter-ish- fine- evil in its being,
For none of this should be.

Oh, wait, am I losing you? Hold up, let me slow it down.
Don't go just yet! I'm just saying that none of this,
None of us
Should exist.
Science or no science.
Whatever this is, is evil.
No conscience to it, plain evil
Scientists said it looks for energy
And wants more, at whatever expense,
Even in the smallest of spaces,
In the smallest of nothings.
We're its atoms, so it actually does have a conscience (correction)
We're the Gods we dreamt.

In the expanse, we go,
In relative milliseconds, flow
Into the next expansion.

For no reason.
For no meaning.
No, not even in women;
They're just pretty men.
Lol, you get what I mean.
And, even if you don't,
One day I will be free
And these will be letters
No one ever reads.

Already is.