we come on earth to die.
we follow the rules of humanity–
use your manners, make good grades
get married,
have children–
and we bring up our children
to do the same **** thing.

but who is to say that
this is how we should live?

what if my happiness
is your sense of depression?
or if your anger
is my sense of comic relief?

nobody is right,
but nobody is wrong.
and that's the paradox,
the altering perception,
that we suffer from,
or bloom with,
as life passes us by.

they say that before you die,
your entire life flashes
before your eyes.

so when I held the gun
up to my head,
all I saw was you.

and I hesitated

because I couldn’t bear
to have your divinity
engrained in my mind
forever.

I can hear you heckling me
to play those sketchy little games
and I always convince myself that
I’ve got a shot at winning.

and of course I’m one
to be fearless, and eager,
and unbreakable
to take that wild ride with you.

but on every revolution
and each wicked twist and turn,
I get a little dizzy–
sick and confused–
and I wish you’d just stop this ride,
and let me off
to let me live–
live to enjoy the lights of the night
with you.