Truly no one anywhere/ somewhere, would care if I dissolved my remaining restraints and gouged these two fucking wrists allowing my most inner convictions to free flow this thin air.
I’m so tired of all the let downs, life isn’t peachy-smiley; it’s despair.
It’s darker than black and horrid; pitched inconceivably well between the locations of boring and no one cares.
Its like a never ending charade, a cheesy attempt at the tradition of happiness like those carnival parades.
Low and behold when the music stops, I see the me in you, I see the facades.
No one loves me, typically I could care less, I’m usually reserved,
I generally deserve the right to preserve myself from the
crowding stifling suffocating world around me.
I’m unhappy beneath this mask, I see the same in wandering eyes; obvious lies dress up like suits and ties around our lifestyles.
Covering the impending
ejaculation explosion of compulsively compressed “white lies” nearly neatly pallet stacked on top of all the dark ones. Cork screw if you will.
And we know what they do…relieve bottled pressure.
So how about it self?
Is it time to pick back up this knife and put the
clarity sharpness back into my life?
Sever the life server’s important arteries?
This isn’t my suicide pep talk, it’s the self-homicide prep talk.
Photo credit to: http://m.flickr.com/photos/bullibauert3/8986935921/