**** what do I do today that isn't the same old tired ******* as every other day and what does it all matter when we're all just a bunch of circus clowns ******* life down the drain beer after beer after warm body after warm body with dead eyes to dead eyes in the mirror and we're killing ourselves and we're killing each other and when worse becomes worse we just sit there and watch it all go down and we just pretend to love because the real thing is just too ****** painful and its easier to just go with the flow and live in cookie cutter homes with cookie cutter lovers who care less than our fingers and fists but at least we don't walk around looking desperate and lonely and we laugh the fake laugh and we walk the fake walk and it's all nice and cozy in front of the fake fireplace with the fake fire blazing and we don't have to smile as long as we have some face paint and we don't have to pay attention which is a good thing because we can't afford the luxury of thinking and we're dead inside but we keep spinning the wheels to keep the faith alive in a common hatred of the uncommon and its god and war and politics playing good witch bad cop and judge and jury and executioner of small kindness and simple compassion and it would be easy enough to love one another if we didn't spend so much time worrying about the death of the dollar and all the petty wants that ignore the simple needs and I'm out of pretty stories and I've got nothing left to make up and I've forgotten how to lie and there's nothing left to steal that isn't part of the horror story of everything that is becoming real and I just don't have the strength to make a fist and I'm bored of ******* anyway
physical or mental and I guess it doesn't matter because I'm all out of beer and my bodies gone cold and my eyes are as good as missing from my reflection within the ******* painting itself on the wall to keep my dead heart beating and my **** hard and my corpse to go through the motions of lust shouting out lies of love and I've become nothing more than a broken cog and gear inside the machine of perpetual ignorance
nothing but a wheezing artificial lung in the old dogs of war for profit
nothing I ever imagined or wanted to be
and its the pain of disappointment and the misery of despair that ***** the air out of my throat and its there in the darkness of the void and abyss to come that I hear a voice whisper and call out and something other than a hollow echo reverberates inside and I remember something...
and all I can do is wonder what are we doing this all for when without love all we are is blood and spit and bones and bile and monsters dressed as something that was once worth being human for...
I remember something...
something worth being human for...