Here he is, growing backwards,
However you want to call it.
Spiralling down the pole of real life
While looking up at the hole in the ceiling
Where the people who’ve brought him here
Look down with their real expressions,
Their true personalities, and their honest opinons
Naked finally in his eyes. He sees their deception.
Abandoned Now, he is alone. Now he is terrified.
Finally in his own two-bedroom In the city he was born and raised in,
And although he always escaped it,
He absorbed its energy in his family's house,
That upside down house where he was a
Retired senior in a middle aged body
With an adolescent’s mind.
Now his living space is cut in half.
He has lost access to drivers.
Groceries don’t magically appear.
Food is no longer served anytime.
And now his decision making has multiplied,
His power to control has magnified,
His mistakes are all his.
This time the rebel has his cause,
The artist has his inspiration,
The performer has his script:
To save his own soul from death,
Hoping he makes it out
Even if just barely alive.