It’s a matter of fact that I’m going to snap, Leave it all behind and vanish Deep into the middle of the night, Never to return; why the fuck should I? You’re already aware that I can’t hack it, Pointing it out like I don’t know, The only difference is I’m gonna embrace It on one of these dreary days, Just uproot altogether and go! Weeks are long, months are Eternities; I miss those spaced out so far, Since I feel closer to them, those that Understand; your attempts to know me Have fallen hilariously flat! As I write, I’m making my peace with this Decision I’ll have to make and keep, I won’t say goodbye the hour I leave, Just a note and a room full of memories! My eyes water as I await more grueling months, Yet I assure myself I just gotta suffer a bit more, Then after this last slog, I can run away and be done…
I’m the one in your alleyways Hanging out by your garbage cans, Scavenging for what’s left as I Figure out how I’m going to Slip away once again so as Not to meet the gaze of prying eyes…
I’m the one rummaging through The dumpsters you don’t Watch, digging around while You sleep away the darkest Hours, hiding so many secrets Under a veil of dark…
I’m the one you glare at Whilst I walk alone on the streets At sundown, awkwardly fixated on Because I’m dressed for weather That’s as cold as I feel inside…
I’m the one who observes From under a bridge surrounded by trees, Listening to the hustle and bustle of your life, Remembering when you screamed at me today That I should strive for what you have…
I’m the one you want to catch and kill Once you saw me out of the corner of your eye, Getting away again with what you Believe I shouldn’t’ve, cursing Me as another scoundrel that Society forgot to grind into dust…
I’m the one who doesn’t play along When “more” comes into play, Demanding why I didn’t put in, Guilt tripping me as if my conscience would Care that I wasn’t giving away more than The absolute bare minimum…
I’m the one who hung out with the Freaks and misfits you didn’t Pay attention to as I spewed out Everything you fear within their Circles, cheering them on and Welcoming them, feeling more alive and Refreshed than I ever did when I was But one of the fortunate ones…
Do you listen to the Words they write, Or are you just a meathead Eager for a soundtrack to your next fight?
Repping shit you clearly Don’t understand, An obsession you have with it Because it makes you feel like a man!
The only thing that gets processed Is the anger and frustration, Yet if you read the sheet the words are on, I imagine you’d think them all worthy of extermination!
Have you ever took the time To pay attention to these rhymes, Or is it all just hollow words You’d otherwise want to persecute and label a crime?
Block it out, ignore it all, What do you mean a fucking message?
Nothing but a damn brick wall, Caring nothing for a lyrical assemblage!
I don’t want to think about What they scream and fucking shout!
Just keep giving me rocking tunes, So I can rock out with the other dudes!
You’re probably everything they hate!
I’d imagine you’d want them snuffed For opposing all you consider great!
Twisting the message To suit your own ends!
In all likelihood, They’d want you dead!
Don’t pay attention to the words, Never mind what the fuck it is you just heard, Just kick back and nod your head to some chords While they say “screw that!” to everything you stand for!
A skull full of nothing but dead meat, Hard and solidified like concrete, Suddenly pissed when you come to realize They have some thoughts you despise!
Maybe you decide to misinterpret, Blatantly bypass the wording And act like you’ve never heard it, Convinced it means something else Since I guess reading what’s right there ain’t fucking worth it!
Doe-eyed prey, swimming in a sea of sharks, fangs abound, clearly unwanted guests. What’s to stop anyone? There’s no justice out here. It’s the wild west. But even those people had a certain sense of honor. Not these, no. They’re animals, look at them. Zombies, reduced to only carnal instincts. I bet they salivate as we walk by.
Don’t look at them, maybe they won’t look at you. Don’t acknowledge them. They might not acknowledge you.
It’s not by choice, no. We certainly wouldn’t have picked this route. But you have to do what you have to do. Seniority means you’re the last line of defense. Especially when the ones who really can make an actual difference aren’t there.
Scribbles underneath bridges, indecipherable words and drawings from madmen with poison in their veins and broken thoughts in their minds. What brought them here? I don’t know. I don’t care. Best to keep walking. All you’ll be met with is slurs. First confused. Then angry.
Once you get to the gas stations and liquor stores, they swarm like flies. Cluster like hornets. Poke the nest. See what happens. I wouldn’t be here if I did, nor would my sister.
Cars on stands on the side of the road, windows barred or boarded up, broken glass, the stench of regrets too numerous to even be cared about, the appearance of the word “decay”. It’s not an ideal place for the youth to grow up. Not to me. But beggars can’t be choosers, and I hold no malice for being put here. I owe it much, as much as I resent it.
Growing up, I’d hear of a place called Hell, in holy books. A place where the wretched are sent, and the worst of the worst congregate, doomed to rot there, drowning in the cesspool of their own failures. They said it was somewhere else. I’d disagree. I can point out to you where Hell was. I saw it when some freak without teeth looked in my direction. When some degenerate hobbled into view, breaking out of a drugged stupor. I experienced Hell when we crossed the street early, and when we quickened our pace a bit, and my heart would pound like a rogue jackhammer on stubborn cement.
I’m not going to Hell. I already went. I have no desire to go back.
Three miles. Three measly miles. And then, after 8 hours, you do it again. Reverse. Back home.
The parents can’t help you. They’d like to. But duty calls. But come straight home. Wouldn’t want to worry them any more than this already does. The wrath of a desperate father, frustrated by his shortcomings, and an incompetent mother, and two unruly children, well, I’d hate to see that.
You get used to it after a while. An unconscious man lying in the streets, an empty bottle lying next to him. A woman offering herself up to any and all takers. A gathering of strange characters, conversing about potentially violent hijinks.
Avoid saying “hello” to anyone. No one’s friendly here. Strangers aren’t to be trusted. Eye contact will lead to lethal consequences, I think. Just keep walking, sis.
Rinse, wash, repeat. It becomes second nature. And you start to blend in after a while. It becomes robotic.
A World In Flames 