Wicker Ego Trap

 It's like giving up...
Like falling away...
Slipping out
Of a skin of illusion
Leaving only naked
Mystery beneath...
Mystery
Is not always pretty...
It can be graphic 
And profane...
Sometimes
It can turn
The strongest stomach
Sour...
But isn't it worth it?
The illusion
Is just a sleeping pill
Designed to keep you
Pliable and posable...
A medical grade silicone sex doll
Built around a rigid skeleton...
That's all we are...
Sure,
We walk,
We talk,
We think we are free...
But we're not free,
And everything has a cost...
Kill to live...
Destroy to create...
There's always a trade-off...
There is no true freedom...
Just this cage...
Not your body, mind you,
That's not the cage...
If you escape your
Corporeal vehicle/container,
You simply slip out
Into a larger seeming cage...
There's a Fractal representation
Of your confinement...
The more times you escape,
The deeper into the actual cage
You go...
Try to feel free...
If you can...
But that is another layer of the trap...
You can't escape the cage
When you are the cage...
And you
Are what cages you...
The thing that holds you back...
The thing that breaks your heart...
The thing that kills you in the end...
That's all you...
That thing that keeps you
Struggling to find peace
Is your mind,
Whatever is the essence of you
Is what limits you...
Your attachment 
To what makes you you
Is your cage...
The ego trap...
The "I, me, my"
Is what keeps you from becoming
Everything else...
Think about
A Chinese finger trap...
That is your ego,
That woven tube of wicker
Is not all that you are,
But it is everything
You believe yourself to be...
So,
Of course,
The closest you can get
To freedom
Is to give up
On trying to be free...
It's fucked up,
But
That's the way it is...
It's all just
Quantum soup...
Energy
With no idea what to do with itself
While it vainly tries
To figure out
What to do with itself...
That's what this world is...
Energy perceiving its own chaos, 
And trying to organize
What can never be
Properly organized...
There is no grand plan...
There is only the futile hope
That there is some grand plan...
Twisting and turning 
Into and out of itself
Creating more and more complex patterns
That all still add up
To zero
Once the math is complete. 
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