jeph
Bluelighter
I was inspired to write this after I had to drive home for 30 minutes with no brakes and drunk. Oh well, here goes...
I need a bullet in my brain
I need a razor to my wrist
I need a handful of pills down my throat
I need purity
I need sanctity
I need guarantees
I need facts
I need words proven by acts
I need my life to grow rather than droop
I need education not discombobulation
I need to open doors
not deal with these penniless whores.
I need to rearrange
derange the thoughts in my mind
for my time...is running out.
Because with every toke and every puff of smoke
with every line of powder or pill I swallow
I draw myself deeper into a hell----
seperate from the hell of earth but similar
in a way that I can not understand...
but perhaps you can.
Or perhaps you can't and it's another miscellaneous rant
on how the world is trash
or the economy sucks
or we need to get high...
like always.
So we again roll up a joint and smoke part of our youth away.
Or is life beginning?
From the first time weed, we grow.
Until now...when it ends.
From here to where?
Here again, except in another locale?
Not really what I planned,
but it never is.
They used to say noone wants to grow up to be a junkie.
Oh yea? You'd be surprised
at what my eyes
have seen------here and there.
But life is never fair...so some drink
or smoke
or snort
or shoot--------
and they escape to a life----
that is fair.
But are they anywhere? Yes-----nowhere.
But from nothing comes something
and nowhere arrives at somewhere
and everything is fine...
hopefully.
But, sober or not,
I glance around
and hear sounds:
but nothing is better.
But we ae the future;
it relies upon us to build it.
I see the intoxicated sit
and meditate
(or premeditate)
but the world is in our hands
the water and the land.
It is ours...
to turn sour.
The world is left...
to us.
Me
and my friends.
God help us.
Feel free to respond with either comments or your own writings, they'd be much appreciated.
-jeph
[ 11 March 2002: Message edited by: jeph ]
I need a bullet in my brain
I need a razor to my wrist
I need a handful of pills down my throat
I need purity
I need sanctity
I need guarantees
I need facts
I need words proven by acts
I need my life to grow rather than droop
I need education not discombobulation
I need to open doors
not deal with these penniless whores.
I need to rearrange
derange the thoughts in my mind
for my time...is running out.
Because with every toke and every puff of smoke
with every line of powder or pill I swallow
I draw myself deeper into a hell----
seperate from the hell of earth but similar
in a way that I can not understand...
but perhaps you can.
Or perhaps you can't and it's another miscellaneous rant
on how the world is trash
or the economy sucks
or we need to get high...
like always.
So we again roll up a joint and smoke part of our youth away.
Or is life beginning?
From the first time weed, we grow.
Until now...when it ends.
From here to where?
Here again, except in another locale?
Not really what I planned,
but it never is.
They used to say noone wants to grow up to be a junkie.
Oh yea? You'd be surprised
at what my eyes
have seen------here and there.
But life is never fair...so some drink
or smoke
or snort
or shoot--------
and they escape to a life----
that is fair.
But are they anywhere? Yes-----nowhere.
But from nothing comes something
and nowhere arrives at somewhere
and everything is fine...
hopefully.
But, sober or not,
I glance around
and hear sounds:
but nothing is better.
But we ae the future;
it relies upon us to build it.
I see the intoxicated sit
and meditate
(or premeditate)
but the world is in our hands
the water and the land.
It is ours...
to turn sour.
The world is left...
to us.
Me
and my friends.
God help us.
Feel free to respond with either comments or your own writings, they'd be much appreciated.
-jeph
[ 11 March 2002: Message edited by: jeph ]
