Wake up. Give thanks.
Proceed to the nearest plank.
Dive in. Bite down. Revel in the apocalyptic byss that stands before your battered doortstoops with a leaflet.
I'm just looking for a place where I can rest my face from the everyday charades of
"Hey, how how you doing?
Nevermind if the answer ain't fine."
Something with doors that doesn't resemble a first generation fish tank stuck in the muck of yesterday's basement.

I'd take my hand outa this here fire,
but you might think me less than
desirable for being a child
about what I perceive to be dire.
I'd reach out for your hand
if I wasn't already trying to hold my breath
by placing both my mitts 'round my neck and squeezing 'til nothing is what I felt.
That's my definition of help
and I doubt it'll ever change.
We are our own worst enemies
and I take it to the extreme.