You can point a finger,
say I’m a dead-ringer for nonparallels and
screwy ties,
little lies,
hard cries,
love dies,
and I hold nothing
as an anomaly,
everything as a
criticism, cold
and clinically considerate.
Sincerity is a sin in today’s
abnormal,
sub-par sets
the bar for
where we’re supposed to be at.
And intelligence,
coherency, is
worth less than
old US currency -
nobody cares about
Mayors or fairs or lairs
as long as somebody stares
at you, me, us.
Players are the played
because love is made
not felt,
only doled out
and dealt with.
Calamity is common because quiet is boring,
the dark is intriguing
and the light’s just lame,
so shut your eyes,
hold your cries -
no one’s listening -
you’re drowning out in Revolution,
Evolution doesn’t exist because
we don’t want to change,
so we shoot long range
for something strange.
Life lasts on a limb, so hush up
and grow up
and hold up -
what’s up with this blue sky?
Is it just a lie?
Fabricated, like our
conformity, Christianity, cruelty and “class”?
Do we need proof
to put a roof over our heads
in a place we don’t own?
What is home now that lives are destroyed
and feelings are void?
I cannot sit back and
let you spit on my innocence,
my understanding of honesty,
or my partial pride.
Let’s all hide our true nature.
It’s not natural to be next-to-normal
or cool to be plain
and it’s a pain to try to adhere to the standards of pretty.
Pink equals pity
and it’s such a shame,
we all dance in line with the game,
try to win fame,
lose our old name,
coz we’ve got others to blame,
and no reason to run to anything but depravity,
a lower center of gravity
is what we need now
because grace means NOTHING and personality is bland.
Like sand
we’re all just part of one billion.
Just another unhelpful hand.
We sit back and watch as sexuality is canned
and try to land
higher up than those fanned out beneath us.
They teach us,
preach us patience,
plead us mercy.
But, in a world that’s so thirsty
for violence,
tyranny,
conquest,
and pain,
how can one gain a single ounce of interest in beauty?
And YET WE ALL DO.
So yeah, you can point a finger,
say I’m a dead-ringer
for nonparallels.
I refuse to succumb to the succubus, mindlessness, the mistress you
call “normal”.
Bleak
would
be
a
better
word.