We revolt ourselves; we disgust and annoy us.
The way we look at us lately chills us to the core.
We become like those who seek to destroy us.

We push ourselves into small tasks that employ us
unrewardingly on purpose. We tire, we bore.
We revolt ourselves; we disgust and annoy us.

We rent ourselves to what force will enjoy us
into oblivion: wind, drink, sleep. We pimp, we whore.
We become like those who seek to destroy us.

We cat-and-mouse, roughhouse, inflatable-toy us
in our heads’ red maze, in its den, on its shore.
We revolt ourselves; we disgust and annoy us.

We take offense at our being; we plot, we deploy us
against us and flummox; we wallow, we war.
We become like those who seek to destroy us.

If in triumph, our defeat; in torture, our joy is.
Some confusion so deep I can’t fathom anymore.
We appall ourselves; we disgust and annoy us
into those we become we who seek to destroy us.