Dead End

yes, let the dead dread end, let the end die, who has the energy for energy? whoever you are, expend, let's see your comeshot, your dead end.

no, i don't need another drink, no, i don't need fucking coffee
yes, i need to take a piss, i'll still expend the energy to avoid stinking pants

i'll still slouch and put off the dental appointment
i'll still show up to work and wonder
which is worse,
my dead end job
or studying to be an unemployable musician?

i can't commit suicide because too many people are attached to me
i could sever those attachments, but i don't think i have the heart to

but i want to become more familiar with death - if i had heroin
i might flirt with death, you know, because i don't want to commit to it just yet
but isn't that how flirting works? you ease yourself into it, till death is easy

i don't know what's wrong with me tonight, i took a turn
it's unprecedented
but it'll join the pile

maybe i need to stop fiddling around, find the logical end
but even the hard truths have become cliche, trite realities
yes, i could expose myself to the extremities, maybe beat a love of life into me
but it's still just instilling, installation, insta-bullshit

i should have been born a plant, any plant, odds are good i'd be one outside human cultivation/mutilation

i'm still a pile of chemicals, can't they be transferred into something that will appreciate? a chemical gestalt that will not employ the gift of life for florid whining?

what if i opted out? is it my christian past that gives the opt-out option the residuom of sin? or is it gaia telling me i'm needed? or is it plain old fear of the void?

i guess i still perversely feel a purpose in this life, i guess it's purposeful in a poorly maintained way to write this shit right now and continue to delay expensive dental care that is a waste anyway since i'm too lazy to brush my teeth very often - grammatically correct runon

hey, philosophers of the world - i DARE you to try and convince me that consciousness is a human-only phenomenon - go on, use your best arguments and metaphors - let's see if it does any good - if good is where it all leads

i'm just tired i guess, can't be bothered to find reasons to live when i'm uninspired so i resort immediately to suicidal hyperbole

oh, if you'll excuse me i have to go to work, i've whined enough but i don't care about whining anymore, i care about truth, and i am on a truth kick, kicking lies

damnit, now i just want to sleep - see, when i can sleep i can't be bothered to, can't even get comfortable, but when i'm not supposed to be sleeping, that's when sleep is at its sweetest, and i'm not yet hardcore enough to skip work to squeeze out the sweetest milk from sleep – oh here i am talking of flirting with death, and i won't even miss an hour of work! but i'm hardly a zombie, can't even claim that hardcore workaholic extremity, i'm addicted to nothing, not even writing, how do i keep going? what chemical is sweeping me along for this wobbly rusty ride?

poetry and virtuosity and melody swim beside me, sometimes i find myself in the waves, bounce off the reflection, muddy the water - haven't pinned anything down yet - yes i know, all the wise people say you can't - but often wisdom doesn't seem wise

why do i crave heroin? this is silly - it's more than curiosity - it's almost faustian, except without the hubris - i'm not a real satanist, i don't even believe in the bastard - i may never have beliefs, i don't even believe in the void - i believe heroin is real but i believe i've never tried it - no, this is stupid, heroin would just make me sick, a sick euphoria i'd quickly develop a tolerance to, and then i'd be a junkie, scoring to be baseline, and that would be lame and drearily sane and burroughs did it better in the fifties.

okay, i'm just lazy and weak, ground zero for humanity's flaws like they all got crammed into me, the elephant man with no dignity, morally bankrupt, simultaneously goody goody, how the FUCK can that be? don't know, but i feel it in saccharine paradox, a manic-depressive, both sides flavoured foul, clinging to words - i will love the sternography of my dead end - we've all got to go sometime - i'd like to control my end, grip the thermostat as i slip off life’s welcome mat, SELF MEDICATE damnit - but it's not my time yet, even if my organic neglect pushes me to opiated death fantasies - silly silly silly hypernuanced monkey, still with ideology, oh can it already, don't vote, you'll be responsible for electing another corrupt government, you really want your fingerprints on the ballot?

How'd I slip into second person again?

Shameful, this soliloquy - the greatest shame is that i have the greatest lover in the world, the one made for me, whom i often praise in generally inadequate ways, hoping my feelings fill in the blank, but it's scary to go beyond words, to entrust reality to the higher frequencies...