What's For Sale?

The doorbell rings continuously with no patience. approaching it makes you curious, but cautious as you sway to the doorway, you glance through the two-by-two window the transparent glass blurs the figure but you know exactly what to expect as you pry the door open you gasp a gasp not from shock or excitement but from the culprit in front of you he wastes no time and unfolds a menu of some sort explaining what he has for sell what he is trying to infest your brain with persuasion a menu filled bounteously with terms and items pictures of organs and intangible items. a conscience, love, clarity and the pursuit of existence ”you cant sell me these things, they are’t real” you exclaim in a blunt manner he says, these are yours. you’ve lost them over a long duration it’s you that wants to buy these. these things belong to you. ”You are a robber sir, you know that?” I accused, but he replied with, “I think you’re the robber here” I gathered up my money and bought all that I could. and as I walked inside feeling accomplished. The surplus to these traits were only mere pure shards of my life tiny bits of my past and as I endure them I just feel like I have my entire life empty, without a structured figure. without a developed mind without a feeling of warmth with a corrupted self-worth contained in a small glass tube.