My mind is a steel trap that holds everything and nothing at the same time. I can’t remember your name, but I can recall every dumb ass thing you did up until this point. A gift or a curse, it is all that I have. A memory for stupid shit that no one seems to care about. Like the time in fifth grade when the kid shit his pants in the back of the class or the time in gym class when the girl got the shuttle cock stuck down her shirt during badminton. Stupidly pulling her tits out to retrieve it as well all stared, or maybe it was genius. Either way she was legend after that. She was noticed and someone, if not everyone, cared. Always remember never forget. Tiny moments that make up a life time. The tiny moments come back to haunt you, but the big ones are always there. Chewing On Glass is about the little ones. When they come back to haunt me that is.
One eyeing it on the way to work sober, sad this is the norm. The emotional drain of doing the same thing every night is called life. Told we could do anything. The lie keeps us from killing ourselves, but don’t be fooled we kill ourselves every day. Risking our lives for a dollar and a day that most of us, the ones that truly need it, will never know called financial independence. But at least on holidays we get time and a half, so that’s something Of course not everyone is so lucky to even receive that. We all belong to a collective noise all saying the same thing, “Follow your dreams.” The dreams keep us going even if they will never come true. What if my dreams are to watch the world burn?
Figuratively of course the smell of burning bodies would get pretty nauseating very quickly and the screams. I don’t even like to hear my neighbors beating the shit out of one another, so I couldn’t even imagine how annoying a thousand plus screaming people would even sound like. All seriousness aside though. I’m not a terrorist, a loose term thrown around for shock value, or a bad person. I just see all this kindling sitting there in our society and I think all it needs is a spark. One tiny flash of light to set the whole thing into an uncontrollable inferno, and I wonder why can’t that be me?
But could one tiny spark really set this all into total chaos? Can words really change everything? Am I prepared for a world left in ashes from the comfort of my office chair? Defiantly wouldn’t be anything to bitch about, and that would suck. I mean could you imagine coming home and having nothing to say? What a waste of a day. Maybe there is a reason that not all dreams come true. There I go again talking myself back into my chains, back into slavery.
Honesty will only get you hated. The world doesn’t want freedom or change they just believe that they do. What they really want is more of the same. More shows about people like them, more stories about people who go through the same shit as them. What they want is to feel as though someone understands what they are going through. When we are all going through the same shit. Over and over and fucking over again. They say that they want one thing, but in truth they want the exact opposite of that because the human race is too stupid to realize what they want. I don’t even know what I want.
I fit right into the puzzle and it makes me sick. I hate myself for it. like a good whore it is only after I’m done that it dawns on me. That I am as much of the problem as everyone around me. Mob mentality doesn’t leave room for dreams. Only hands to keep you tethered to the ground.