Nov 02, 2005 02:32
I don't want to hit that point
Where I can't remember anything
Where nothing's ever new
And I'm caught up in my memories
I don't ever want to be
That hollow sidewalk masterpiece
It took galleries of lying whores
To know life's not worth dying for
Through all of this
My one true companion has been an irregular heart-beat
He's a faded work of art pumped with childhood ignorance
Regret (by definition) is the rear-facing car-seat
I close my eyes at night to see repeated traffic incidents
How are we expected to sleep through police sirens
Or what's less, the silence
Which blares reminders of a compliant loneliness
It's puzzling how the quisling has always paid his taxes
But they have spoken
It's been agreed upon
Amended
They've pretended it's for our own good
That there need to be new laws
Because the old ones are broken.
-=Brendan Rutherford=-