Viva la Rebellion
‘And my life has become unmanageable…’ This is clearly an understatement for the life that I have led since birth. I’ve been a loner, a pessimist, an antagonist, a miserable wretch. I’ve been a liar, a cheater, a wallower in my own self-made dispair. I’ve been a walking, talking, babbling brook of disaster.
Addiction is the cold war pulling at our heartstrings; each an isolation of its own and all unwilling to reach out in communion with the rest. It’s a cold war that leaves us seething with resentment and anger over the people, places, and things we have no control over.
Enslaved by social norms, jonesing for distraction, obsessed with feel-good moments, fixated on the notion that the whole world revolves around whatever prison we have created for ourselves.
Despair and isolation is the sum of most of my life. I can’t remember a time when I felt connected to this nonsensical world around me. The ‘people’ in it continuously leave me in a staggering daze, endlessly pondering how humanity has come this far with such astounding stupidity weighing on the scale of triumph.
Growing up, I was an extremely angry loner. I was mean to all my short-lived friends and I was royally pissed at the world. I saw absolutely no hope in the future, and I didn’t give a flying rat’s ass what anybody thought of me.
How can someone who burns so hot be so cold?
How can something that feels so right be so wrong?
It’s like I’m lost in space and I can’t go home
The further I drift
The hotter I burn
The colder it gets
The more I yearn
For something less painful than the stake in my back
I can’t relax
I can’t look at myself
This can’t go on
I’m still trying to make sense of it
I can’t make amends to it
The pathway of destruction is wide
And many are in route
The end looks like the beginning
And the beginning…
A cloud of soot
But the stairway to serenity is more than meets the eye
It spirals up instead of down
And lifts you far up off the ground
The first step is wide as wide can be
A simple task to catch a grip
Here comes the dragon
I know he’s kreeping around the way
I could smell that bird coming out the pit from miles away
I act like I don’t see him as I go about my biz
Check him in the mirror like I’m locked up in a prison
These walls, these walls, they’re all around
A dungeon in my mind
His shadow kreeps like candlelight
A traitor to my eye
He’s there but he’s not with me
He’s coming in for the kill
It’s so weird to be alive. I wake up, eat, shower, get dressed, check up on the happenings of this strange world, run errands, eat, sleep, dream and wake up. The days meld together. Weeks turn into months. As I drift into the future the past seems more like a dream.
I try to make sense of it all, try to live each day unto itself. I try to dig a little deeper, try to better myself. I try to strengthen my spirit and lend a helping hand. Be a friend to my neighbor, and be grateful for what I have.
How can someone who burns so hot be so cold?
How can something that feels so right be so wrong?
It’s like I’m lost in space
And I can’t go home
The further I drift
The hotter I burn
The colder it gets
The more I yearn
For something less painful than the stake in my back
I can’t relax
I can’t look at myself
The disease of isolation
Self-pity and self-harm
Anger and resentment
Selfish lies and selfish wants
It’s baffling
So obscure
Cunning and hard
It’s your own personal Satan pounding at your door
It’s the first place you run to when you want to hide
And the last place that gets you where you want to go
It gives you everything you want
But nothing that you need
Sometimes I feel like I’m stuck between a dump truck and a cliff. As the days go by the harder it is to look back. But moving forward feels so empty, a void that can neither be filled nor emptied. The upside down of the right side wrong. The further I walk the more I’ve lost.
And as I lose the self that won’t come back to me. I detach from the life that meant so much to me. I can’t remember the good or the bad. It’s like I jumped out a wormhole and forgot what just happened.
Look at all the birds
Every shape, color, size
Scratching at the surface
Pecking at the lies
Adorning the walls with excrement
Every day is a holiday
Every day is the same old story
The plot thickens
But none will sway
Where have all the flowers gone?
Where are all the vines?
Where are all the pretty birds?
Where are all the signs?
