Here, waiting to be told that we are alright, the night gets deeper before the day, and before we sleep we bleed, and cry and pet our pride, because we cant come back. We are the bastard prodigals, gathered together to scream in the freezing dark, but as I look to my sides, I am alone, there is no we because it is only me.
I will self-destruct, scattering my exo-existance into the bombastic and belligerent beauty of the world.
I will leave little pieces of soul and heart for little boys and girls to follow after me. I am no giant with shoulders for men to stand on, but a stinking mess that must be trudged through.
I am the failed project, the first draft, a self-important rookie that never made the second cut, hell I never left the bench. I wanted to be a writer once, and now, all I write are rubber checks.
I still stand, out of habit more than anything else. My feet are solid in the ground of going nowhere, but firm all the same. No one could claim that I am inconsistent.
I stand with middle fingers bared, saying fuck the few, majority rules! Burn all the schools, bring back Hitler, and down with Honika(how ever the hell you spell it)! And I would wear a heat resistant suit, then light myself on fire and run through the streets of Salt Lake City, Utah, and tell the people there that I am liberating them. |
