Direct Democracy

It crept up
Slowly through my parallel-ization
And pinched at the nerve that shakes me
From rest into writing

No longer witness to conformity
Direct Democracy
I’m in the inner circle now
Where handshakes are quantified

Freeflowing, absorbed into the romanticism
Smoothly bought all care-free I can I could I had to
Weasels slip me into their forbidden realm
Snakeholes tempt me to dig further

But I hate the threat of venom
I dislike the smell of irony that airs around me
That putrid quality of silicon-implanted friendliness
All to heal away my hatred. All to steal away my support.