On What There Is

(Or What There May Be:
Existence and Other Things)

I'd like to return my ticket.
Not most respectfully, however:
(and prepare yourself,
or don't, on second thought,
I quite enjoy the shock factor)
I'd rather spit on it
or shred it to a million pieces
or burn it
right before your eyes.

It has been months since
I shed a tear over anything,
yet now the tears flow easily
for a man I have never met,
for the pain of his family,
for the pain of a friend.

And this gift you call life
is really a weight on one's shoulders
and a shackle to this earth
and I cannot for the life of me
think of a single one who deserves it.

Maybe this is why I self-destruct:
It is the only way I know how
to throw this gift back in your face.

And to all of you with an agenda:
I will simply deny you.
Keep your agenda to yourself,
I will take no part.
I do not want to be saved.
Pitied.
Pursued.
I cannot even say that
I want to be healed.
I will not be wooed
and I will not be won over,
by those of you with agenda.

I laugh easily about my darkness,
this is a warning to you.
Keep your distance.

I am not who you imagine me to be.

Know this:
you are playing with fire.
And perhaps I pride myself on this fact:
that I am something of a pyromaniac.
This I say to myself
as I take yet another from my pocket
and light the flame.

I've wasted so much time
washing clothes
that will be dirtied in days.
It seems an outright denial
of my humanity,
and the simple state of things.
I'm sick of playing your game.
This plan of yours was either ill-conceived
or conceived with this intention.
Either way, I want none of it.

Perhaps all I desire is truth,
but I don't think that I'm strong enough for it.
(For there is no peace to be had,
no comfort, no satisfaction,
only suffering.)

I'm overcome with a nausea from which there is no relief.
I burn with passionate restlessness.
I'm beginning to doubt that there are valid answers.
I don't know that I believe a kiss will suffice.

again

'Who are you?' said the Caterpillar.

This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation.

Alice replied, rather shyly, 'I--I hardly know, sir, just at present--at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.'

'What do you mean by that?' said the Caterpillar sternly. 'Explain yourself!'

'I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir' said Alice, 'because I'm not myself, you see.'

'I don't see,' said the Caterpillar.

'I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly,' Alice replied very politely, 'for I can't understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.'

Why.

Really, this is just getting ridiculous..

What's the opposite of a hopeless dreamer?

Last night
I came home to find you
waiting in your car
for me.
You wanted to make amends
and I wanted you to
and we did.
I laid it all aside
for you,
I hope you know
what that means.
Things were the way
I knew they could be,
and then I woke up.

I guess all I'm saying
is that I'm still hoping,
I suppose.

Get Better (Mates of State)

Forget your politics for a while
Let the color schemes arrive

Come on board, it's a curious site
Absorbing sound that's never been right
Never ahead of, never behind it
Occasionally guarded, just keeps us surrounded
It's luck

Everything's gonna get lighter, even if it never gets better

I propose a less serious boat
Don't mistake it for a party of jokes
You are never ahead of, never behind us
Floating in circles, there's more to remind them of less

Everything's gonna get lighter, even if it never gets better

Forget your politics for a while
Let the color schemes arrive

hi, again.

hi, again.
i was just wondering
if you could let me know
what it is i'm fighting for?
i'm dying to know,
and at this rate,
i might die before i ever really begin
the fight.

I hate the game.
The game of pretending not to care when you really, really do. Why is it that we feel compelled to hide the truth. We are so utterly terrified of the truth, of exposure, of vulnerability. Instead we pretend we are impenetrable, we hide ourselves behind hobbies and the things we like and we deny that anyone may have broken down a wall, or touched us in any way, because that means they have gained the power to hurt us. I am terrified that if I let you know, I might lose the slimmest chance I've got. But is passively watching that light of hope flicker and burn out much better? No. Really, it's torture. I want you to know that I care, just not how much. But I don't want to lose the game. But I don't even want to play the game. I'm arguing with myself. I wish I could get out of my own head. I wish I could break out of this prison.
If I do this now, I'll regret it later. But If I don't do anything now, I'll regret it later. I don't know I don't know I don't know.
I tried to suppress your presence in my conscience. Instead you appeared in my dreams. A shadow of you, or who I thought you to be. Last night you told me what it was that drove you off. You said it was because there were too many superiority issues. Everything done was done to impress, and you didn't want that. I don't know where it came from, this wasn't a thought of mine (I don't think, but of course, I could be wrong). I don't want to give it any heed at all. Half of me wants to forget that you ever happened. And the other half wishes it wasn't over. Where is the middle ground?