Chewing On Glass…

It hurts more knowing… than finding out…
It hurts more wondering… than finding out…
It hurts more feeling this way
Than anything else I can think of
I think of nothing else… and this is what I am
Left with… an empty heart… a broken mind
If I could turn back time to better times
I know I’d only die… to have to relive this
Again and again… This is a hell I already live in
It hurts more knowing… than finding out…
It hurts more wondering…
Than knowing it’s going to end…
An empty heart… A broken mind…
Thinks of nothing else…
None of this suffering… serves any purpose…
This time…

Holding my own soul in my hands…

It hurts somewhere in my lungs
Maybe it’s my chest or something else
It hurts somewhere in my head
Maybe it’s my brain and nothing else
It hurts this much I know
Just don’t know where all this pain
Is coming from, but it starts somewhere
From deep inside

This will all make more sense with some sleep…

The traps have been set
Now we just have to wait
Life isn’t all dystopian
Anarchy for sure
Except with too many rules
What was meant to happen
Locking me in a box without a view
Did you think I’d learn a better way
More of the same found in this empty place
Telling me how to think
Works until I’m bored
Then I’m just looking
For ways to get around it
Dancing through the shadows
Unnoticed and undetected
Who’s bright idea was it
To strap me to a sinking ship
And not expect me to say anything
Go ahead and point to the heavens
But man did this to themselves
When you run out of excuses
You’ll see it too
Endlessly… Hopelessly…
Go ahead and blame everything else
It’s not like you are alone in saying it
Life is about fitting in not making it through
Say it seven billion more times
Now we’ve run out of space
Drawing conclusions on how to start again
Right back to where this began
Reaching for something that isn’t there
Destroy everything and fix nothing
The only way we were shown to live

It hurts when I pee… Sorry to be so candid… The doctors on Web MD tell me it is kidney stones… I tend to disagree… I recently took up a new way to combat writer’s block… the Albert Fish way… Not by eating children… That would be silly… by sticking metal pins in random places… Let your imagination do the rest…

The real issue at hand isn’t the technique or the process… It is how they get lost somewhere under the skin… The metal detectors aren’t helping to locate the last few strays… and I’m a bit afraid of the CAT scan machine… for obvious reasons… Don’t want it playing with my brain waves… Things we all have to live with I guess…

Ignore the pain as they say… push through the open door and cry to the sky… Jesus will make things right in time… Strong words to live by if you ask me… Granted they contradict my original solution… but no one ever said any of this was meant to make sense… I mean God didn’t learn his lesson with Albert Fish, Jeffery Dahmer, or Ted Bundy…

Sometimes you just have to push one on through… Try your best and hope they don’t discover the savory taste of human flesh… Though I think it was more of a texture thing for Bundy… Wouldn’t know… I can’t stand the feel of mushrooms against my teeth… Just the thought gives me shivers… Lamest horror story ever written… But fear isn’t meant to be rational all the time…

Like migrant crime… or the idea that the super rich want your kids… when they could clone their very own by the thousands… and no one would be the wiser… You know what bothers me the most about it all?… I spend hours trying to stitch up every plot hole I can with every story I write… and these morons are out here devouring Swiss cheese and half assed conspiracy theories like they’re the greatest story never told… Now who feels dumb?…

Still not me… but it does feel very disheartening… Almost as if I should stop trying to learn polyrhythms and fart on a snare drum instead… I wonder if I sharted hard enough across the drum head… maybe I’d get a big enough following to make a difference in this world… Probably not… I’ve always been told I’m not outgoing enough… Maybe my mother was right about some things after all… I guess I’ll just have to keep trying at being myself… Lame…

Hope all is well…

If you shart across a drum head and become famous… Know you will owe me at least ten percent of everything you make… and I will come for my share of the shit… I am still American by definition…