Chaparallel

This universe was not made for you.
You are unallocated in list of
Participators and only consume… and we’ve entirely forgotten about you.
You do nothing.
You deserve an even smaller potion of happiness than the
Everything you neglect,
A unit so close to zero, it can only be limited to
The lowest number you can squeeze out of
your tube.

Most of the doors are shut at your approach, and we’re
Glad to see your nose close, but far
From the other side of plexi.

If they destroy you, and when they will –
Nothing will happen; you’ve allowed the science
And majesty of prediction to take the place of
Sweet, unreasoned faith.

Die, fruitless laborer. Crumble into your dry skin and
Rot.
Snap your femur with the flat plate of head-bone
Before you go,
And limp… limp into the dark underworld you hardly deserve,
But where else can they put you?