Merchant's price

I write it down even if it's not perfect, I scribble sometimes when I write cursive, and when I get emotional I lay down on the earth, phoning God for a message, asking him "what is my purpose", cos life is looking different from a different perspective, poisons we have ingested, a life that we once projected, life, with it's reality as its serum, injected itself right into my sternum, and now with my vision slowing, I feel numb, adrenaline system kicks in and I feel like I am not one, with this society so I work endlessly, to look like these strange people, fake wananbes on tv, students but lacking pupils in their eyes, a ghost waking by, an organism caught up in somnambulism, treating knowledge like food but they practice bulimicism, but I try to dig myself out of the grave, cos these materials that we freely purchase is actually keeping us a slave, it is called merchandise but what is the real merchant's price, they don't see that materialism is a vice, they say they don't get affected by TV but they are already in your heads like lice.