Red u u u nd ant

An experimental poem.

It’s starting to get redundant.

I feel disconnected from everything.
The train station feels like an echo from a dream.

Above ground, I was sitting in a band hoodie.
          Faded black, black coffee, black headphones—

Am I this guy? (I like this guy.)
         He stands taller. 
         He feels bigger.
         He’s grayer, but he’s carrying less.  

Maybe I should start smoking.
An old guy near me is lighting up. I smell it.
          I never smoked, but I like how it smells.

(Now I’m on the train. It shakes.)

It breaks above ground. (Industrial wasteland.)
          Not every square inch of this place is scenic.

Do I really have to keep feeding the machine?

It’s starting to get redundant.
          Cannot speak, lost my voice, speechless and redundant, I—
          (so heavy, I fell through the Earth.)

It’s starting to get reduundant.

Am I someone else?
I didn’t survive all this shit just to be someone else.
          What is all this molding me into?

(I feel disconnected from everything.)
           I am just a shadow of a shadow of a shadow.

It’s starting to get redundant.
           Where is this train taking me?

A guy in a video said,
          People who’ve survived 
          things
          have had to be more 
          aligned
          with their 
          values 
          and 
          purpose.

I didn’t survive you
just so I could be someone else.