Fight, flight, f-

On my d- for good luck

Melancholy wit my trigger finger

Twitching on despair

You can search for all the fucks I gave

But they're no longer there

Bodies stacking bodies

But these people, they don't care

I dream of every life I stole

But I don't see you there

Your d- was pointed at my face

And mine against your chest

Eyes locked eyes who'd blink first

We'd put it to the test

Being honest if I lost

I think that'd be the best

I've got a body count already

I don't need another mess

But if we could just walk away

And live another day

I hope that we can meet under

sky's that aren't so gray

Howdy folks. I'd like to share one I just cooked up. It's called, "the fool."

Isn’t it better to play to fool over the mime?

Isn’t a jester, more noble than a bumbling clown?

What gold has silence earned you?

Isn’t a loud mouth more fun to have?

It’s good to pay attention to everyone that has the king’s ear, isn’t it.

A silvered tongue in the mouth of a fool in the ears of a king worth more than any alchemist’s gold.

Some wisdom is older than man.

That wisdom comes not from memories not in the head, but in the very DNA that makes you.

Wasn’t it foolish to ruin paradise?

Don’t we do it every day?

What's really changes?

Who’s had the king’s ear all these years?

A silver tongued fool with more money than sense turned a playground into a parking lot.

Turned something into something else that destroys something else for something else’s sake and something else has to happen for something else again to once again stop something else that some one else started and no one else has stopped.

Repetition has never worked to create something new.

Has anyone ever known happiness in a loop?

But even if you try to repeat something else

What differences did you bring

Did you change a fools performance into gold?

Who’s the alchemist after all?

Where did all this gold come from?

Sorry, Mamma.

Foolish foolish fools and their foolish foolish goals. Foolish gilded ghoulish goals of gains and gold and gore for gold and gold for gore.

Chicken or the egg.

Blood shed is the end.

Does which came first matter?

Not if it is never made right.

Alternate Title

Retirement Plan for 2022:

A Letter to my Accountant

My entire working life

I put not a cent

Into a retirement fund.

I never saw a point in it.

What good was saving

I need that money yesterday

But more than that

I didn't see myself

Ever having the opportunity

To look at a version of myself

30 years in the mirror

6 months and we'll all know together

Whether I was dumb

Or just plain stupid

Thinking on it critically

Since I spoke

So little on the subject

30 years of silences

Makes it plain to see

At the very minimum

I was dumb all along.

180 days of my own

Personalum

Medium Annus

One I made my self.

Sorry for the suffering I've caused along the way.

There's been a lot.

Time sure flies.

I'll get better.

I'll get better.

I'll get better

And then I'll pass.

As do we all.

They lie to you when they tell you

"If it's worth doing, it's worth doing right."

That mentality was a trap

One set for me

And other "gifted" to believe

That only Perfection is valid.

Only Perfection is competitive.

"If it's worth doing, it's worth doing poorly."

That was the spell that illuminated

The jaws

The hinges

The lock

And the chain

I could see the path I walked clearly

That allowed me to succumb

To such a common

Plebian

Mundane pit fall

I can see it all

But not the key

And I'm tired.

Every effort to climb out

Was done for years

Still wearing a chain I couldn't then see

And now that I see it

I'm tired.

My ankle feels fine inside this cruel metal mouth

The uneven spiked floor, a more comfortable cot

Than the walls I still have to climb to get the fuck out

Just pass me some water now and then

Make sure I have my pills too

And when I wake up, I'll still be here

I don't blame you

For moving on

We only have time

After all

For those

That can help themselves

As the minimum bar for giving help

And since that's not me

I'm fine to bid ado

If this was my final Spring

It's been the best I've ever had

What delights will I know

Come Winter

As the decades begin to feel seasonal

And birthdays come so often now

Losing track seems inevitable

There's just so much to forget

Our lives are made of so much of these

forgotten

moments

lost

Not with the sands of time

More permanent than that

Gone with the distant dreams of those not yet born

Who could never have known your name

Has a day gone by now?

Or was it a week?

What do you mean it's already been 10 years since we last spoke?

Why was our last conversation

So pointless

That we'd

never

do it

again

I'm sorry.

I thought it'd just been last week

Why am I dreaming of you

Like it's just been a week since we laughed together

About the most nothing life had to offer

And why can't I find you?

I want to know the dreams mean nothing.

That it was

all

for

nothing

How many more weeks will go by

before I can even rouse the strength to ask

how did you die?

Didn't we speak just last week?