As I walked down the city streets,
I could feel the dirt and grime settle on my skin
Like dust when the scorching heat beats
Down on me and everything within.
There are people walking all around me,
Like they really care about where they’re headed.
Well they’re goddamn mistaken if they thing they’re free;
They’re trapped in futures that I have dreaded.
Don’t they ever wish everything would stop?
That all the goddamn frustrations would fuck off?
All those bastards with age think they sit atop
A throne, when they’re really eating shit out of a trough.
I wanna do something real, something that goddamn matters.
The trouble is, nothing seems to matter anymore.
When I dream up a life for me, someone shatters
It because they don’t have anything to live for—
Then again, neither do I.
It seems impossible to do anything pure
When these vile, weakened bastards are all you come by.
From them, only filth will you procure.
There’s only one goddamn person in the world
Who doesn’t pretend about anything:
Old Phoebe. She keeps from feeling I’ve been hurled
Into a pit where innocence has never been seen entering.
Around and around she goes on the carousel,
Moving like the hands on a clock
Only nothing changes, nothing moves;
It wish it would never goddamn stop.
"Futures I Have Dreaded", a poem I wrote from the perspective of Holden Caulfield.