We like to think about a lot of things.
Everyone's got an opinion about humanity,
about God, about society, about illusion,
about beauty, about most everything.
We're allowed to have these opinions.
We're allowed to draw whatever is in our filthy heads
and write whatever words spring to our fingertips
and we're allowed to call it art.

Someone questioned this system, this reality once or twice,
Said maybe it shouldn't be this way. Asked why,
and what and where and how
They were expected to believe in this ****;
Asked who wrote the book that says we have to be like this.
Said, would it matter if I just left you all behind?

They found him at nine in the morning about to jump from the Fremont Bridge, ready to take the plunge  into the frigid water.
He jumped eventually but missed and hit the hard cold unforgiving pavement and broke lots of bones but lived.
I wonder if he found something to live for,
Or if they put him on the pills and locked him away like all the rest.