Ribmeat Of The Family Tree

Help Ave.

4-2-05

I got so sick
of telling people how I feel
after they began to question me
and want to know me.
They went toward exploitation.
I went for hibernation.
They wanted to know, so I told them.
I'm not sorry
if they didn't like what they heard.
Help is a curious avenue.

Today I am only speaking
to people in poems.
For why? Well,
if my every truth is going to be
set forth for random interpretation
anyway,
and my actions are going to be
mentally TIVO'd by same randomness,
then I need to have my randomness
somewhere.
Somewhere alone and stable.
What you perceive as mistakes
is just me learning through failure.

No one truly cares about anyone.
That is what I've learned
from caring too much.
Rule #2:
The ones who really care the most
do so through your own destruction.
Meaning:
they care enough for you
to have you there,
but the cost is self-destructing
by their means.

So, out with pretentiousness,
egotivity, fake passion,
selfishness and selflessness.
It all gets me nowhere.
There is no middle ground in the underground.
Self-isolation is the key to self-preservation,
but the cynic in me
won't let me explain.
It's a bullshit cycle
and Help is a curious avenue.