ride the snake
the clichés that seemed hollow
now fill me with ejaculate sting
i feel their reality
but nietzsche’s wrong
what doesn't kill me corrodes me
can't see the strength if it's there
i’m called back to organic chemistry
another tour of duty in a dirty war
but i renounce drugs every week
what do you do after burn out?
sign the next lease on life and
renew your nerve cells, now more
fussy and prone to pain, prone to shame
the ridicule of regeneration, is it a
good deal, good enough to keep
going?}
my girlfriend drinks once or twice a month
to excess, usually involves a bottomless pit of misery
so maybe she's real deep into the game, deeper than me
but i don't know, i'm not keeping score
somewhere somebody is retching at the cliché
of calling life a game, somewhere
in someone's reality, "reality" is not a game
it’s what you can get away with, the cliché is true
i just misinterpreted, like a literalist, for so long
rich with delusions, soiled with delusions
rife with opportunities for
hallucination
by now i'm a pollock painting
splattered with a million layers
looking back through the colored cobweb
seeing there was never any thinking straight
gnosis
nobody can convince me
of their philosophy, gotta think for me
and one day, i'll come crawling back
to whatever womb i can find
Ф