You can't save yourself
There's something doubly wrong about
that
To insist there's something wrong
implies the dream of right
and I have found myself old and
flightless
and not in the right
the left has it's problems
embezzling wealth from the multitudes
in the dissemination of dreams
and the right stealing in the broad
daylight over the horizon
the strength to be sure
and science has claimed the authority
filtered through the fundamentalist's
multiple lens
and I have found myself old and
flightless still
caring less and more and has never been
more complicated
and the taste of scotch more alluring
faced with wreckage everywhere as
dwellings
I feel sick and depraved from so much
color upon color
and color upon color upon color
and color
in my dreams, mundane and with animals
everywhere
in aquariums and other containers
like humans in so many containers
as animals
that cannot speak
and humans that cannot speak
always smug and present
and always killing me
I'm nobody
and killing every part that was
somebody
with every last mundane smirk
and expression of boredom
my hysteria
framed by their disinterested presence
trapped in so many containers
and other containers
as animals
and animals beyond fantasy
are trapped by reality
and know a freedom of reality
that is one large sigh
of a breath
every one thousand years
The older I am
the more easily I get scared
that I will be left alone
without myself
without others that know truth
how can I know truth?
Without others that know truth
to have guided me all these years
how was I to know?
I've studied and studied
practiced and practiced
and learned and learned
and it is as if I know nothing at all
and the hysteria I cannot circumvent
overwhelms
From the mystics to science
I can only denounce so much
before I realize how much I've believed
this whole time
and how my beliefs seemingly atonal to
yours
are what can truly destroy
it would be unfair to channel this harm
or die so early
against the grief stricken wishes of
the beloved heart broken
no matter how broken their beliefs
I am one of those ridiculous souls
that may never stop searching
for something they were never meant to
find
if poverty were the problem
then we've missed the point
it's not that the beauty is in how
things really are
or sadness be in how things really are
I am one of those ridiculous souls
that may never stop searching
for why I never get away from wanting
and always in poverty
I'm close though
to something
I not so secretly wish it was money and
stability
and so on and so forth
and for years always close and never...
…
When I talked to you last
I must have been still a child?
Or perhaps about to turn 21
Just kill me now
I saw
it's been a long hard time
and you never kill me
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