Dearly Departed

Push the button, ring the check, be a part of society. Welcome to your life, wishing it would end with every tick of the clock. Look to the door, every time it open automatically, and hope for the ex-worker gone postal. The barrel of his gun like salvation and his sullied image will appear an angel to your distorted world view. Take two in the morning and call no one. Fall into the darkness. Go gently into the dark night, miles of everyday hurdles and human drama to go. Coffee enemas your only salvation. Good to the last drop, from your ass to the floor. To the red bricks you hit with a pink sip in your hand.

When shall the world crash down upon itself? Welcome to the helpless age of strength. The wold has become the rock giant in a never ending story. Tall and made of stone, he is strong but he couldn’t hold on to them all. He watched secure in his steadiness as the rest floated away to the oblivion of nothing. The end of a long journey. Go with the flow or give yourself to remorse. Hold on to time as long as you can and it will all end. The End waits around the corner of your every move. A huge acme anvil that waits to drop on your head and defies physics with it’s ability to float until released at the appropriate comical time.

Just let go, fall into the nothingness. Welcome to hell, a open room filled with endless rows of cubicals, where everyone has a case of the Monday’s and the devil’s decree come in the form of memos from Management. 18, I gotta get away. Take a jog around the stratosphere. Got confused, drop out, tune in, turn on. Hippy Mantras couldn’t save the spotted owl and the outcome looks bleak where you are concerned. A thrown away generation, given intelligence by a adequate school system and given to jobs that couldn’t keep a monkey’s mind from insanity.

Game Over, with no credits left. Welcome to reality, where we fill it with more games, more distraction, more senseless banality, and top off the mix with our own brand of righteousness. We dispense our twisted version of our opinions, like assholes they stink and can be found on the bottom torso of every human alive, or dead for that matter. The gift of gab is a slice to the throat and life of independence.

Submit and conform, welcome to the the end of your life. Much like the start, you never asked for it and should concern yourselves with the merits of unwinnable tides. Lemonade from the sour lemons. The blank cold stair and emptiness. A vessel with no soul is fertilizer in a cheery wood finish. The end.