There is little as boring
As a room full of people all
On the same page
A group with the same ideals
In agreement about the world
About styles and politics
And books and art
Jesus if that doesn’t kill
Every last atom of creative thought
What a waste of fucking time to be there
Yet this is what so many strive toward
Like-minded friends
A band to belong to
I just want someone on my level…
I am still better in an argument
Or better than that
Just alone
The comfort of retreating will never leave me
And I like that
Wilson said that the group is a grammatical fiction
As it is made up of individuals
And here they are
The individuals
All trying to be like their friends to
Feel that inclusive lie of belonging
I have never understood this desire
And don’t think I ever will
That’s why I find it so hard to work
In the hard labour sense
Everyone committing to the team
Yet another group that will always exist
Within an even bigger collection of nobodies
A circle of dogs chasing tails
Happily ever after.