I left my bed With the hope That I'd be given Plenty of rope. My dream disposed, I'm left in debt Thanks to all the Dumb things I've said.
I brought my gun, But my friends Seemed to have pockets With holes in them. I have a grin-- A Yankee one-- Because at last, My eyesight's gone.
Light lets us see What darkness made; Still, I swallow words I need to say. Oh aspartame, You've beaten me And you kept Your dignity.
I've decided to write about my numbness and apathy over the past few days. I've been in a very dark place--even by my standards. It's not the crushing depression that has afflicted me so often that haunts me most, it's the lack of haunting, the lack of manic highs and detrimental lows that is most troublesome. I've come to terms that there's never going to be a revolution, at least in my lifetime; the millennial generation is too caught up in trivialities to care. Is it bad that I want to see all we know tarnished and razed? Is it bad that I'm ready to give up on wanting that? The sensation of numbness: a paradox nobody can explain.