Exit Strategy

Ahem...

You can find me in my phrasing. The sort I sort of succumb to, I run to, when I'm wound too tight, and I spring.

I want my stone to say: he died, determined, defiant, and trying; to find a way, within, restoring reflexes of a nation again. Not giving up and getting out, fringe-floater, non-voter, wish it all away, just PRAY.

Hail Mary's with a pistol-grip and a hand grenade. Self-made. Dropping bombs in brains. Chemical cocktails coming from consciousness, not concoctions cooked up in Wal-Mart parking lots. Pseudo-ephedrine is pseudo-effective. Blinding eyes to disguise disgust, mistrust, and how you hate how you're living, what you're giving. This is plastic, people, in high definition.

Enough problems. Solve them. Feel free to disagree on details: Idiot box? Window drop. Credit cards? Cut em. Cash and carry. You wanna hear rhythm? I'll give you beats of MY heart. Want change? Draw back a stone. Don't watch your language. Borrow my scissors. It's simple, you either do or you don't. You won't, you know. Bitching and crying with a broadband connection? Come on. Climate-controlled, courage-curtailed. Self-induced revelations, headfast for nothing. No twelve steps to lean on.

Misplacing pieces of compassion all over: I mean me. I'll sacrifice your acceptance. Embrace this two-fold essence; weekend warrior, in a way. Daddy by day, and by night... both ways, way away from the choir, preaching, beseeching. Handshakes and head-fakes. Gripped up, wrung out, and not giving a FUCK.

It's just too much, too close. They've got shields, and papers to cut your feet from under you. Destitute. Designated. Come quietly, don't scare the children are the sole motivation for suffering these sacrifices. Chill out. Let it go. It will all be better in the end we have everything under control. Our power, which art in heavens, monitoring the situation is already desperate.

I'm just as scared as you. I'm dreaming of hills like heaven in the sun, ring around the rosie like candy cane kisses. Little misses like little me I may never see. There's another way, you know.
I'm pushing at boundaries to get somewhere, not just cuz they're there.

Don't break my heart with reasons. Soulcrusher. Poison apple for my kind. Pregnant with potential, some gravid menangerie spilling forth in random, unguided genius, smothering me with absence. Be my bravery, live my dreams, give birth to visions.

And, if not....if not....well, just put down the switch, turn off the pen, and go suck a little numbness into your lungs.