Crying

is this the real life

i know it’s not fantasy

unless my twisted mind

fantasizes all the time

about a fucked up world

that leaves me crying

all the time

on the inside

but out

of my mind

is this a cry for help?

all the time…

why am i crying?

and are you listening?

who’s listening?

all the time…

and if you’re listening

don’t weep for me

cry for those

who forget that this

is all just a ride

like Bill Hicks said

back in the day

as he’d chain-smoke on stage

hacking up more truth

than I’ve ever seen

on a TV screen

ever heard from scripted reality

polished newsmen telling me

what to think

what to drink

what dish soap to use in the sink

what clothes to buy

what car to drive

what genetically modified food to eat

and what airline to fly…

what condoms to wear

and what diapers to buy

for the kids we didn’t want

but have to raise

when those condoms break

because my gal’s a catholic

and listens to the pope…

and what liquor to drink

to forget about them

for a while

and try to cope…

these polished newsmen

telling us to use

fluoride-filled toothpaste for our smile

and after it’s been a while

and we start to relax

and start to forget

they’re there again,

still telling us which boogeymen to fear

new boogeymen to fear

year after year

but you see,

Bill Hicks was right

when we turn out the light

there’s no need to fear

year after year

the boogeyman’s inside our head

and some of us realize this

and want the boogeyman dead…

and is this a cry for help?

and would you care if it was?

and should I try harder drugs

instead of writing?

should I give up

now that I’m all done fighting?

year after year

after war after war

and no one keeps score anymore

but the ballgames on

and the beer’s ice cold

and I’m getting old

have to shave off my hair

to hide the gray

and I try to remember

day after day

that even though I cry

all the time

on the inside

that this is just a ride…

but is this a cry for help,

and will I answer?

Uncle Kurt taught me

cigarettes are a risky suicide

can’t count on cancer

and pills are less painful

but I wouldn’t mind

if it somehow looked

like an accident

or if I

somehow looked like a hero…

if only the universe

would mis-guide an old lady

in front of a train

i can pull her off the tracks

by her cane

and when she’s laying

safe by the side

the hero who saved her

can heroically die

because he went back

to pick up the cane

that slipped from her grip…

will you help write the obit?

“Hero dies saving old woman

from train”…

even though we’ll both know

that it was suicide

just the same.

About soitgoes1984

I was born and raised on land stolen from the Pocumtuc. I now live on a small island in the middle of the Pacific ocean, on land that was stolen more recently, from the Hawaiians. I am addict, struggling to kick the habit of fossil fuel.
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