Sometimes I wonder what’s in the dark.
Sometimes I wonder what lurks behind closed eyes.
Does the world end with a nap?
Or does the soul emerge from the mortal cocoon,
shedding the drudgery, the prejudice, the shackles of our pathetic past?
What was I supposed to do here?
I’ve been told that I need to find my Dad.
I called out for him, he went out for a jug of milk.
So I shrug and I sulk.
What’s the purpose of finding a purpose? I’d be dead lyin’ if I didn’t say that my deadline happening at any moment makes me feel alive.
Bless my poor little heart and the stress that I put it through
Earth returns to earth.
My hot blood spurts a scorching statement, it spits in the face of chance.
Fuck you and your comfort.
I’d rather be full of piss and vinegar
than full of regret.
Fuck me and my polite reserves
this is my life, it belongs to me.
I’d rather ruffle some feathers
than be a bird in a cage.
Stay on guard
Stay pissed off.
Smile in the face of anxiety
We chose half-truths and easy answers
over hard decisions
over rethinking our biases.
We chose of life of being
I don’t follow the newest news.
I don’t know how to say no.
I may not be a bright man,
but I do have some light, man.
How can I be well-read
without and good-reads?
How can I be a leader
and not tell another where to be led?
Is that a revelation?
The word reveals nothing, much ado.
Is that a revolution?
The world doesn’t revolve around you.
Is that evolution?
Stagnation loves having nothing to do.
Change takes time
But we take no time to change.
above raging waves.
slipping on the reigns.
A race that I cannot win,
A weight that I cannot lift.
Too little forgiveness of sin,
Too much space in this rift.
Expected to rise.
I will drown
in the quicksand.
Small grains build muffled screams and burning eyes.
Throw me a rope.
Throw me a hand.
To get here you must have been a dope.
At least pretend like you understand.
Tar on my heels,
tar in my head.
I’m sorry if that’s the way you feel.
Maybe try growing up instead?
Like a mother who won’t let go.
Like under a dusty vinyl cover, the contents hidden and stowed.
Why must I tiptoe around dysfunction,
why not trade a lifetime bliss by raising a little Hell?
Why must I obscure my own vision,
and scuttle through the eggshells?
Why must I sit, when I know I should stand?
Why must I whisper, wilt and whimper?
Why be a worm, when I must be man?
I lick my wounds, guilt and bitter.
I cannot make waves to save Earth,
I must silence justice
and prepare her hearse.
Where is God, and his iron fist?
Seated, I stay.
My lips sewn shut.
The wolves lie in wait
Will no one stop their strut?
That’s all that I’m gonna,
because gonna is easy.
I don’t need to be bogged down by goals,
I just need a dream,
I don’t need the sum of a whole,
I just need parts of a ream.
Why can’t the haters appreciate what I’m gonna do?
Why are they so selfish to only care about what I’ve done?
Why can’t they look to the future,
to see my time in the sun?
You’re gonna be sorry that you doubted me,
when I do what I’m gonna do.
I’m gonna be rich, successful, and happy
while you’re gonna be blue
Day-to-day with head in the clouds
as high as I’m gonna be.
While you’re down there on the ground,
planting those tiny little seeds.
Someday, it’s gonna happen.
Someday, my dreams will come true.
Someday, I will.
I stumbled across a British man
while stumbling out of the bar,
he picked me up with an outstretched hand,
while speaking from afar.
He did not look down on me,
but put me at his level.
He did not think that I needed therapy,
and told me about how hard he fell.
He said that he had met wizard,
or at least a well-dressed Indian.
He said that the wolves amongst sheep were his herd,
but it was his new life that he preferred.
I asked him, “Why? Did you not have fear?”
He shook his head.
He told me that he hadn’t eaten peas in five years.
Life was nothing but fear, nothing but laying in bed.
Across by an ocean
but there when I need.
Dry as a desert
his ideas plant seeds.
Thank you, British man,
you talkative bloke.
Not all stories need to end sad,
not all of us need to drown and to choke.
You know that you have to hustle and network
to increase your net-worth.
To be in the black
you must first be in the red,
you need to be behind,
in order to get ahead.
Paying loans with loans
for things we don’t even own.
Like AC/DC, Money Talks,
but nobody told me that it never stops.
We buy and buy,
and just get by.
We always ask how,
and never ask why.
We always know our checks and balances,
it is the center of our Earth.
We always know our deals and debts,
but we rarely know our worth.