The Psalms, the Proverbs

I feel like I am this great immortal being,  
Seeing the world as it is.  
The trees, the beauty, the violence, the nudity…  
Another Holden Caulfield, a hero to wield,  
A man of morals with a titanium shield.  
Somehow I feel I am none of this.  
 
Merely a man, merely a boy,  
Merely someone who ponders on the living and the afterlife.  
I am nothing else. They treat me as one of them.  
I am a lingering jellyfish, with a contemporary view  
And a tainted wish.  
 
I hold these truths to be self evident.  
All men are created equal, and the rest is irrelevant.  
Damn these malevolent beings.  
I am truly seeing this world as it is.  
I have the morals to set me apart.  
I am the start of something new.  
I am egotistic, this is true,  
Yet my views are as pure as an Atticus Finch imitator,  
I show my works up front, and save the dirt for later.  
 
An acidic taste in life, bitter, sadistic.  
I am a miserable misanthrope,  
Who feigns hate to let fake feelings dictate hope.  
I hold the answers, I burn them.  
They are nothing to me, and something to you.  
Why keep them? What shall I do?  
 
I am tragic, I am Othello (Or am I Iago?).  
I bellow thoughts in my head,  
My eardrums bleed from them.  
I plant the seed, I grow the hemp,  
I smoke away until I’m contempt.  
If weed is the only way out,  
I want to continue to bleed.  
 
Few friends are friends too many,  
Enemies are just something else to occupy myself with.  
This happiness is a myth, and my tendons creak.  
My world is bleak, I see how it is,  
And I know it’s His.  
 
If I were a slave,(I still am),  
I would sing on and on about this great fictional beyond,  
Stretching my hopes to their fullest and  
Gunning them down like a bullet.  
I should wait, I should contemplate,  
I should run from fate,  
I should test these waters of tumors and parasites  
Who corrode my life and smite my confidence.  
 
Self-consciousness is for The Neanderthals.  
It is for those who bite and brawl  
And want to fuck it all.  
It is for those who don’t wish to wait,  
Who don’t run from fate (they hide).  
It’s for those who try to destroy what they make.  
Consciousness is for the souls,for the nurtured foals.  
 
I stare at a mirror and hope that my inferior  
Mind could somehow touch the other side,  
A side full Of unanswered questions,  
And unquestioned answers.  
Standards will be lowered, and I am stoic.  
Heroic? Fuck that.  
I am a rat in a sewer pipe, ripe for the taking.  
But so is everyone else.  
I am much the same, but with a different meaning,  
And a different name (a different bane).  
Am I going insane?  
 
My kryptonite is hidden,  
And my patience is bitten.  
My mouth needs muzzling, doesn’t it?  
The gods and goddesses look down on my cryptic body.  
Zeus! Strike me down, with a bolt and a glare!  
I am Samson, cut off my hair!  
Goliath will rape me, Jesus will save me.  
The Cyclopes will eat me,  
The Muslims will beat me.  
 
And here we are. I am a planet, you are a star.  
A red supernova you are,  
Close to bursting, needing water for thirsting.  
I will die out with you, but I am not the same.  
We have different names, different banes.  
Yet We are all going insane.  
C’mon, let’s see the world at its worst.  
But let it put its mask on first.