(toy man)

I’m on a conquest for a bigger set of arms
that can hold my ego. so that when i fall,
they can catch me,
so i die happy.
but for now I’m just tripping on,
through a life not worth much more
than a fifty-cent piece;
and a dime bag of candy.
they chomp and eat their way through me.
I just look at my hair, dangling down,
wondering how soon they’ll be done,
so that I can be left alone,
legless and struggling to crawl,
and begin my hiding,
from the horrors that chase me.
they're stuck some place inside my head,
where faith is gone and hopes are dead.
reason is lonely.
knowledge grows hungry.
where does it end?

my head grows light and the scenery's fading.
the rack crumbles and the plates are sliding
to chalked lines on the tile
some designer styled
to pay his bills and make his rent.
his dream's already got his profits spent,
that he made off those people.
their want is so wild.
like a young boy’s thirst for a toy man
that his imagination can manipulate using his hand.
because, of his own life, he’s already grown tired.
his man's just an expense he has filed
to keep his confidence unswayed
so the other kids will look his way
when their own popularity has dulled.
and still in denial,
they search the playground for some new friend
who will make them appear cool again.
and they will find him.
all the girls will love him.
where does it end?