At 4am you are as alone
as the last Tasmanian Tiger.
You are a bundle of screaming nerves
with no skin to protect them.
Absolutely nothing matters:
not women, not friends
not *** not money, not poverty,
not friends, not lovers,
not the future, not the past,
nothing at all. All that exists
is the terrible freedom
of the insignificant
blob of protoplasm that you are.
You know in your soul
that there is a strong possibility
that nothing means anything.
So you go back to bed
and anticipate remembering
nothing of this in the morning.
The bliss of unknowing
is your only hope
in a world of hurt.
Try it. Perhaps it will work.
It never stays 4am forever.
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 5:42 AM UTC
At 4am you are as alone
as the last Tasmanian Tiger.
You are a bundle of screaming nerves
with no skin to protect them.
Absolutely nothing matters:
not women, not friends
not *** not money, not poverty,
not friends, not lovers,
not the future, not the past,
nothing at all. All that exists
is the terrible freedom
of the insignificant
blob of protoplasm that you are.
You know in your soul
that there is a strong possibility
that nothing means anything.
So you go back to bed
and anticipate remembering
nothing of this in the morning.
The bliss of unknowing
is your only hope
in a world of hurt.
Try it. Perhaps it will work.
It never stays 4am forever.
