Tell Me That I’m Crazy

I would burn the whole city down,

if I knew that it would make you move,

and feast on asphalt with my broken teeth,

instead of that organic-gourmet shit,

that I never saw growing on any tree.

 

Please,

let me finish,

because I know that we made feeling into insanity,

that who cares the least,

wins the most,

and that you’ll call me crazy,

even though I’m not the one who’s going to die alone…

 

Instead you’ll find me burning on the pyre,

built by the indifferent masses,

of the wood from their unfinished basements,

and the fear from their unfinished souls,

my blood stoking the flame like kerosene,

a willing sacrifice to the truth,

that this is all fucked up,

and you’re all fucked up too.

 

It it still ironic if you all do it?

Shuffling to the sounds of my screams,

hoping that they hit number one on the charts,

so you can say you “were there when it started.”

 

You all,

who emerge from your cave only at night,

to sip on the chicest toxins,

bubbling blue like your mood,

and blow smoke,

intentionally trying to look lonely,

missing the only real irony about you,

your horror boiling in your gut,

with free-range chicken that never lived to see the clouds,

bring the long-awaited rain.

 

But, I won’t hate you,

if that is really what you want,

for me to prove your dogma to be righteous and true,

your faith that one last nihilistic smoke is all you’ll ever live for,

trying so hard to make your vintage jeans and angular bangs,

into a real identity,

and look oh-so glamorous,

even though the next time you see your reflection,

staring back from the bedroom mirror,

all you will see is the bones you have to bury,

that same sultry smoke evaporating from your empty sockets.

 

Now, tell me who has gone mad,

even if I don’t smoke,

just burn,

the atoms of my passion,

splitting into a billion infinite particles,

Higg Bosons,

godly phantoms of a thought,

esoteric gleams of real satisfaction,

holy vengeance particles,

that take physical form as sincere tears and victorious smiles,

which all the pills you sold me,

could not keep away,

no, none of your medicine,

your corporate entropy of the soul,

could ever stop mine’s expansion into infinity.

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