logical-apathy. [my hands are sore]

there's something so unsettling- about watching an ex.lovers lips
as they form the three words that used to leave you breathless
.to.someone.else.

-
the summer wind- it feels so cold. gracing your cheek with acidic fingers
and burning these lies. whispered inuendos of whatever it was
that used to matter. that used to care.
with a puncture wound in an empty heart- seeping with deception
apathy. oh apathy- come home.

fist-feed me your delusions. babe. she once said to me
or was that me- to her. it's so easy to get lost in the limelighted tears
-that she swore she cried.
and my hands hurt- from writing too much-
pretending to be a poet. pretending I care, and lying to myself again
it's so easy to get lost in my tears. that I hate to cry
and it's so easy to hate her.

-
fuck.december- it's the savage of the months
or so I've been told by my unwilling-ness to accept reality
logic/ what's it ever been good for. honestly
is all I can think.

and I'm waiting for someone to break this mountain down- so I can be
just another angsty- almost.adult with a chip on my shoulder
and a debt to society that my minimum wage job won't allow me to repay

an airliner to a pre-determined destiny. and it's not mine
talk about luck. but it all happens for a reason. is what they tell me
or what they want to believe- in a sense
with a most fitting pen-name made to break the ice. with it's acidic fingers
tracing a life that I'd rather forget
all the while- walking on that proverbial tight rope without a net

fuck your idealistic morals

.
who said that I can't walk through the woods when there's no path
and be happy with my decision

and it's almost like walking a rocky road with no shoes on
in search of that hidden paradise in the clearing
or- fighting for a lost cause. and waiting for death
simply because you can.
and it makes you happy- to go down in glory

with flames burning- and watching a rerun of what was done yesterday
as the masses yell of your ignorance- of your idiocy
and you smile. you just fucking smile.

that smile that lets you know everything is ok.

-
as I'm stepping out of the woods- watching the logical come off their path
with a few snapshots- to compare to the bruises on my arms
and the thorns in my feet.
and ask who's the victor- who's the rich man
in this material world.

and all I can think is- I'm not.

but I'm a dreamer. and I'm a poet. and I don't need your pity
because I'm happy.

yea. I'm happy.