Melancholy is dead

Melancholy is dead

We mix these chemical mixtures
just to make the self happy again
Our lives too empty and easy
to just be melancholy

This life of ease
for this weak man; excuse me, human
falling prey to the infinite sadness

So we mix these cocktails
that make food toxic to our blood
We inject our bodies
our bodies reject life

We stimulate our brains
with chemical solutions
so they produce in abundance
that which is released through toil

The puzzle:

The enigma of the human state is
we feel the chemicals from petroleum plants
will make us happier than those in nature's plants

So we pill up
and paint on a chemical smile
and eat the chemical foods
to survive our chemical smiles
even though we become sick
while curing our finite sadness

And those less dramatic,
Feeling Melancholy due to routine:

Our life, lived in boxes.
In the morning we rise from our soft box,
Open our cold box,
Turn on the image-box
Shuffle out of our warm box,
Into our wheeled box,
Into a warm box,
To stare at a box,
Inside of a three walled box,
Only waiting to get back to our warm, soft, box
With the image-box softly babbling upon the wall.

The solution:
We drain the blood,
Burn the box,
and head out into the sun.

If a culture as sour as ours were to ever be tasted
By a being with a palate pure,
It would be revolting.
Tasting of sorrow and regret.
This superior being,
Casts aside we curdled beings
Only to label our blood
Caustic, inedible and hazardous.