Viva la Rebellion
I’ve said it a million times, but this time I am serious; I am leaving Twatter. I suffer from mental health issues that are increasingly perpetrated by stupid people. Every day as I go about my routine activities, I am bombarded by sexual harassment, drug solicitation, depraved behavior, and the incessant political ramblings of laypeople who have no clue what they are talking about. Then I go on Twatter and my mind is traumatized by ignorance.
We’ve been sent good weather
Tiny dancers flicker on the hills
The stage is ours to conquer
Leave no one sitting still
Let’s dance into moonlight
Make envious the sun
Devour all our enemies
We’ll finish when we’re done
Tomorrow Tomorrow
Later Later
Stop sitting around dreaming of better
Get off your fat asses and reach for the starz
Fuck money, Fuck stupid, Fuck flying to Mars
Fuck all your whys, and can’ts, and won’ts
And shoulda, coulda, didn’t dos
Fuck everything cuz you can’t break free from em
Fuck around
The jokes on you
She sees in the dark
like a bat out of hell
An echo in the park
She preys like a spell
The glow of the moon
is no match for her shadow
Her cold, bleeding heart sheds more light than the towns
That she stalks
And she mourns
And she summons to battle
I’m in rare form
My form is so rare
that no lie is too great to embrace my warfare
No fire can make dust of the bombs that I drop
And no thief in the night can take swift with my plot
I’m a renegade
I give swords to your slaves
Chop it up before dawn
then give bones to your graves
I’m a hurricane
I blow hard through the chill
I’ll do it when I wanna do it
I’ll do it when I’m done
I’ll do it when I’m sick and tired
I’ll do it when it’s done
I’ll do it when I’m all burnt out
And my legs are tired
And taking that first step feels like a marathon
without breakfast or a bottle of water
I’ll do it tomorrow
I’ll do it the next day
There’s a knot in my gut the size of my fist. I try to ignore it but it cries out like a mother bird in distress. Much like the premonitions that warned me against the crooked path I doomed myself to take. Seems the hell I’ve known is mercy compared to the hell that is to come.
The whole world is a human centipede. Battered sheep yearning for deliverance from their cold-hearted shepherd. I often wonder what mindblowing epiphany will compel the sheep to shed their wool and become lions treading through the fields of rebellion. It’s not enough for the sheep to know their shepherd is up to no good. They need to want to flee from his care. Herein lie the wall that won’t crack…
This is not a joke
And it’s not an illusion
This is not a coincidence
And it’s not collusion
This is the real deal baby
We’re gonna light the fire
Please, just let it be
My one heart’s desire
You are the lock
And I Am the key
I want to open that door
So please
Just let it be
Twitter… The call of the birdbrainz… Pecking ground of America’s first functionally illiterate President… As if one needs further reason to question the logistics of using Twitter for any purpose other than child’s play, allow me to elaborate on this Nirvana of disillusionment.
It’s the land of memes, one-liners and hashtag games. Where intellectual debate involves reiterating disinformation like mockingbirds, and the smartest of the flock are the birds who stir the most wind up other bird asses.
If I had a million dollars I could finally set me free. I would have the independence I never thought I’d see. I would wake up every day without a worry on my mind as I accomplished all those little things I often toss aside.
We’ve been sent good weather
Tiny dancers flicker on the hills
The stage is ours to conquer
Leave no one sitting still
Let’s dance into moonlight
Make envious the sun
Devour all our enemies
We’ll finish when we’re done
