My lovely green field

I pulled down the view into my throat
a little bit suffocated, but it did not hurt,
I was the spectacle, the problem, the solution, the poison,
every anti-bud on the tree of a never-existent God.
I was vulnerable because I wanted to keep being.
And that's overwritten nearly everything.

Except for one thing:
I might be able to escape and resolve not to be human anymore?
I could do that.
So, yes.
Get away from me. Go and witness how they destroy.
There are fights everywhere, More wars; "How did we get there?"
In fact, it never was different and never will be similar.
Parallel absurdity? 
Is it like the end of the Roman Empire?
There are no analogues in the history.
There are no accentuated moments.
It is just a chain. You can call it causality.
Or whatever, who cares?

I wish I had been broken into a frozen sense of peace,
After my bizarre bath in the human civilisation,
Which lie about everything; every second,
a billion different untruths,
Fake gods,
fake histories, untruthful religions >>> almost everything is fake.
We fib, they lie, and they love falsehoods.
We created that hell; we thought it was only imagination.
If you want to see it, just be honest for a day,
be honest, really honest: stop pretending, stop believing,
stop forcing yourself to accept stupid rules,
stop using their money, stop consuming, stop working,
stop using social media, escape: only for a day,
and the hell we created will very slowly appear for you.
We made it. Its walls are from our culture.
The ceiling is made from religious.
That red light inside is caused by the communication.
They lie: blah blah.
Spanning from managers to the homeless.
Most person tells lies at their own level.

Who made the statement that people are intelligent?
Who mentioned that we are extraordinary or miracles?
Who told you this civilisation could be changed?
That person was lying to you.
Anyway, it does not matter if you discover this.
Does not matter anymore.
I am indifferent to;
It's not my civilisation anymore.

I am a dog, a cat, I am air,
Or a plum tree,
But not a human.
This is my lovely green field.