Just Mad

I'm mad at the world because the world is a mad place and it's always pulling down on my hurting face so I make my shoulders stronger and the world just spins down harder so I strengthen my back and I strenghthen my calves and I spit on everything that weakens my path but the weights of the stress of the god dammed hate that feeds my mouth taken from my plate is the same damn rust that colors my brains with the same stupid thing that provides the pain in my growing calves in my harder veins depleting the tissues that keep me sane so i'm betrayed by my own decaying ways because it's the strength that I make that betrays my wake and every time I stand tall I prepare for the take of another stronger wave of the things I hate so the lesson should be to walk away from my own failing ways but the sun shines every day and it seems like there must be some way to get strong enough.

I continue to take the paths of the strong soul and I brave out the cold and I don't shiver at all and I walk with that limp but pretend I don't and I pretend like karma has some kind of hope of the things that I do that are good-will kill and outweigh anything else and I continue to be there to help the rest and I work with the weakest and give my best and I know one day I'll lie dead with only a handful of mourners to stroke my head and I'll be no more and nothing at all and no more feelings and no more goals and no more anything but the few that cared will even hold me close enough to be a memory but the sun shines every day and it seems like there must be some way to be good enough.

I keep taking breathes and I keep singing songs and I keep taking showers and I put on my thongs and I bathe in that sun and I'm glad to exist but I can't keep away the things I can't resist are the waves of dispair that are always there and always something new to betray my peace because I wake just before I sleep and if I sleep I wake in error with some fucked up thought that yields terror so I sleep in fear that when I wake I'll be in the same horrid place where I closed my eyes which is the same horrid place that I despise that I call my little chair in the darkness of the night with straps around my arms and legs which hold me tight reminding me that the one thing I can count on is my little chair to rust on but the sun shines every day and it seems like there must be some way to be powerful enough.

I was made to almost be great to almost have peace and almost never hate but misfortune is in the word "almost" because it's never a confirmed success in fact its confirmation lays in the ashes of the rest by the very nature of the word suggests a failure by some margin that will always exceed success granted in the first place and that is the metaphor for my life and brain and how I came upon this conclusion because it's almost right or it's perfect but unnoticed or perhaps it's so perfectly noticed that it doesn't shock the senses enough to be good like my purpose on earth which is to almost shine bright to almost be good enough and to expire before I'm finished and to expire without having quite done enough to matter enough to the world that betrays me and pushes down harder on me every day and breaks my balls in a new way every time I become strong enough to resist it but the sun shines every day and it seems like there must be some way to be smart enough.

I lie in my bed and I toss and I turn and I think of things that make my brain burn and I use the fuel created by my fears and I know that these episodes are lasting for years but it makes me so god dammed mad to think that I am the one who bends and breaks so my parts are for the take and then all claim purity when I know damn well they have drunk from the well and it makes me angry to be what I said and I'm god dammed mad to realize what I was told I was just fed and that I am the only one again who is lonely in the things I did and I am alone inside my head while I wait for someone to tear down these graffiti walls to grow enough to take the fall and tell me about the things that were done to steal from my well and tell me about the darkness and about hell so that I can see how it's different now with my own eyes but time passes still I don't heal because time is not what it takes to feel less pain when you need to know the cause of the cuts to the veins and when you need to stop bleeding from the heart but the sun shines every day and it seems like there must be some way to move on when you don't even know where you are.