If I don’t get a steady job soon, I’m going to run for Congress and put my uselessness to work.
xoxo – Pikey
I’d like to offer you an apology. It recently occurred to me that humanity, of its own insecurities and deficits of character, has placed an unfair level of responsibility upon you for its misery. I simply cannot imagine if everyone simultaneously exalted me for my potential to bring them everything and cursed me for being bleak, ominous, or even oppressive when I’d done pretty much the same thing I always had… the worst part? No matter what you bring, it seems like you always disappoint more people than you satisfy, and you can hear them talking shit about it in that especially entitled tone of voice.
I know all you ever wanted to do is to rock your own corner of time while people fawn over the past and take the present for granted. I’m sorry we let the past take credit for the cool stuff you’ve done, I’m sorry we’ve blamed you for the present’s shortcomings, and mostly I’m sorry that we don’t just trust you to handle your business without completely and unequivocally freaking all the way out, every single time we can’t predict what might happen. I want you to know that, while I cannot claim to understand the fullness or depth of it, I do know it sucks to be you. Like a lot.
And I’m truly sorry for that.
xoxo – Pikey
He wanted something beautiful to fill his eyes, to steal his breath in wonder:
A perfect sunrise, crashing through the darkness on its way, every day;
He wanted color and warmth to form a smile on his face without effort,
Ever more radiant than he might have dreamed, dreamed away….
He wanted something precious to fill his arms, in every waking hour:
He wanted laughter, love, and peace in a place to call his own, call a home;
But looking out into the skies at dawn, with sadness in his eyes,
He breathed a heavy sigh, for all he’d hoped and tried, he saw that there was
He wanted something sensible to fill his mind, to soothe his ache for order:
A harmony of calculations, made to catalogue the fray, every day;
He wanted cold precision and meticulous description to be all there was,
See all there was in trusty black and white, never gray….
He wanted something tangible to fill a page, assuage his every need:
He wanted peace of mind on sheets in files in their place, all in place;
But looking out into the night alone, a darkness void of height or depth
Consumed his will to fight, for all he’d vied to prove, he knew that there was
He wanted anything to make some kind of sound, to quell his fear of silence:
An exit from his fetid rhythm of slick, slow decay, day by day;
He wanted aberrance, or dissonance, or any kind of difference,
Dissenting from the steady life he’d led, bled away….
He wanted to escape his world, to venture anywhere into another:
He longed for some release he’d only dreamed he might feel, so surreal;
He craved the peal of Heaven’s bells, if not the hot embrace of Hell,
But aft the bullet shell he fired upon himself, he found that there was