Sunday, December 14, 2008

Love Intrinsic

Time spent alone. Clock's ticking, fuckstick, go find a friend; your road to destruction will seem all the more stable with peer pressure humping your leg all the way.

One by one, and two by two
Interesting people, with interesting friends
An interesting place, and interesting times
Oh, how they dance, and heave, and expel their forceful opinion
Of politics, of life,
Of the law, and of the direct repercussions of their transparently stupid ideas
They leave, by one and by two
What's left? What's left.
Room for thought, is left; reflection and perspective
Contrast breeds realization, I come to realize.
I see the people, all out in the streetlight
A midnight party, a midnight ball. A celebration of cyclic nothingness
A celebration of life
A midnight party
Over now, leaves me alone, with room for thought
And an understanding of sorts and types and shades of essential solutions
Why are we here? Why are we here? Why are we here? Why are we here?
If not to socialize
To speak
To laugh
To play
To drink
To eat and be merry, to love and to lose, or not lose at all
Or not love at all.
There must be more, I think in the dulling.

So more, I plead, with thought and with care
I need there to be more! I rationalize, and scream
More than just talking, and making sense
And laughing at jokes thought up on drugs
More must be found, and so it shall be
For in time spent alone I most surely shall see and shall feel and can always
And only realize
That the more I am chasing, is me
Is me
Time spent alone
With myself, content with my thoughts, crude and self-centered as they
All that you have, and all that I have, and all that they have;
Though they care not to see
Is you, and me, and them,
We cannot speak the joy of earning respect from oneself
Instead of abuse, love
And love
Forget it,
Forget it
Love is a joke
From God, from crack whores and popes
Who don’t need love, and know that we think we do
Fuck them, we say
But fuck you, is the truth.
All of you
Especially you.
Fuck you,
Burn in hell, with your parents; they lied
Your friends; they smoked
Your house; full of idols
Your food; unclean! Unclean!
Your children; they slept and they slept and they slept all through school and through church
Burn in hell, says the crack whores and popes

If the price of love is hate
Then God, send help
For better to have loved a demon
Than hated oneself.


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