why don't you just stop?
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ready,
set,
let’s do this.
let’s talk about the nightmares,
the kind that wake you up screaming.
let’s talk about the kind of nightmares
that keep you up bleeding inside
no matter which side of the sky the sun’s on,
the kind of nightmares you’re still up and screaming
and bleeding about days later.
they’re not funny.
when will they stop?
never.
no.
they’re not funny.
when will they stop?
never.
no, let’s talk about nightmares,
and daymares,
and daynightmares,
and
let’s talk about headings nonsequitur
and the anti-content content: the best thing we could do right now is
mock the miserable addicts for being addicted and miserable, and
make examples of the outcasts and the incarcerated;
that’ll fix ‘em for sure,
for caging each other and crushing the undone is the best way to stay the trail of tears that scrapes itself a ragged scar across this screaming bleeding land of importunity and glorified vice.
let me tell you,
let me tell you what to do.
i’ll tell you what to do.
okay. here's what you should do. what you should do is
beware:
for the light at the end of the tunnel is just a lure, and so
be prepared to abandon hope,
if you choose to exit there. is freedom worth sacrificing hope for?
knock knock
no answer
knock knock
no answer
fine, i’ll tell you the joke anyway: orange you glad nobody’s home to tell you the worst knock-knock joke in history? i’m gone, i’m not home. i’m gone, i’ve gone away, possibly for good this time, or at least i hope so, but who the hell really knows. want to find me? then go wandering in the wild places. that’s where i’ll be: hopeful or free, but never hopeful and free, standing on the edge of whatever, struggling to juggle the either/or, sweating blood and letting shed the tears as the screams build up as they always do, and the cycle restarts itself:
ready,
set,
nemo sum
nemo sum
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