Maniac Devotion

He told me I'm maniacally devoted. Enthusiastic like a madman. Devoted in general to the Target. But he - and the others all the more - will never see behind the glass. The Target, the ravenous altar I'm sacrificing myself to, it took everything most of people hold on to. They keep saying that's in vain. They keep invading my own darkness, where I bleed to remain creative, telling me that I'm nobody, just a faceless shadow, and the only way to get a face is to be like them. Hell... They've been given so much freedom... But they're unable to handle it. They don't use it. In that card city they count to be huge, no one dares to see its miserability. Hiding behind the conventionalities, who is brave enough to hold his head above it?.. They don't even need this freedom to be free. This world still prays to its numerous Big Brothers, feeling so safe behind the doubtful authorities - and every minute drops a brick in the wall... Why do we hold so tight to a self-built prison? Maybe because it's self-built...
I'm devoted to the narrow angle of my freedom. But it's a desperate devotion.
He told me I'm maniacally devoted. Enthusiastic like a madman. Devoted in general to the Target. And still, saying this, he's the only one who understands my passion.