Where is that purpose I'd entertain
Each day over lunch - furious
        that life's just forced labor
        smoothed over with decisions such as
       "Would you like to be a slave
        to the white cloth or the blue?"
Where's that purpose whose dream
I believed in (to be free on one's own terms)
        only dragging through high school's
        final years in exchange for
        free shelter and food, a luxury
        though few see it as such;
Where did she run now I'm ready to
        face the world, find a dream
        ditch the old, be the new
        inspire my peers and strike fear
        into the hearts of the shriveled
        fear-mongers who bind us to
        either this or that forever;
Why has that purpose allowed me to
        sit still for days, moving a hand
        to scribble half-sane rants at an
        imaginary lover, though only when
        occasion calls me to do so;
Why has she abandoned me, a shell
        who cusses at a screen of dancing
        colors, shooting poorly-rendered
        people; who knows the subtleties
        of crepe and pancake, but cooks
        only cold cereal with sometimes
        milk; whose heartfelt addictions
        are as fleeting as