by Missy Jubilee
All my life,
trouble has followed me
I’ve been chasing round a memory
I’ve been getting lost
searching for my soul
I took a wrong turn at growing up
And now I pay
Teaching me the hardest lesson of my life
I’m too dumb to die
Well, I don’t wanna be an imbecile
But Jesus made me that way
All my life I’ve been running wild
like a runaway
Wherever the night takes me,
like a stowaway
All violence
is the result of people tricking themselves
into believing that their pain derives from other people
and that consequently
those people deserve to be punished
Living within the confines of threat,
is like living in an interrogation room
when you committed no crime
Where there should be lights on the ceiling
There are only ropes
If I can see the rope,
even if only in my minds eye
I know there is a shard of light at least
And my choice is to believe
that shard was put there by something
that lives within me
With righteous indignation
I look and listen to the pundits
with their flags bearing propositions
of how to commit a murderous bloodletting
with good conscience
The problem is that I empathize with both sides,
fucked as they are
The archaic notion of unity
provided by group think such as color, creed,
or some overworked belief
that there is an afterlife
provides little nutrient value
to ease my mind
I try to ignore the upsets
by choosing to view them in a long form,
a high def production exercise
that might prove useful at a later date
when I can cope with a diet of bullshit.
Bullshit,
and the art and the consequence of practicing it
The enemy of bullshit is time,
time served processing the economics of inevitability
The pathological mind
can never release
the curtain of the junior ego
To do so would be admission
And it might even explain
an enemy without a face