In a past life, full of perfection in our small minds, we were rebels. In a small way that means everything, we were a band of misfits. In a quick light, a glimpse of time, we were together. Together in our personas, but separate physically. We weren’t one, just matching.
They had their briefcases filled with their torture devices called truths and had their running sneakers on. It was a great chase, trying to drive the delusions of anarchy out of our minds, when they were starting to consider it themselves. When the opposition has an idea and it makes sense, that’s when you know you’ve lost.
They lost more then our small battle, they lost their minds. Our way of life and frame of mind are for those of us that can handle the idea of being wrong sometimes. Maybe even all the time. You can’t medicate the thoughts away like other illnesses, you either suffer or succumb.
In the end we died out, sick of illness or waiting, now there are but two of us left. Waiting for the perfect time to strike our plan of tattoos and locked doors. We’d sooner die than leave. We still aren’t one, we just match up. We match up to each other and everyone else’s expectations, they just don’t realize their expectations are so high.
We continue to wander alone, talking of our crazy theories and small possession of personality. We laugh at our idiocy and ignorance, and find brilliance with the memory of our past winnings. I don’t think we’ll ever leave our minds.
Inspired by We Were Rebels by Backpack Party