Looking At the Wall

Ain’t nobody around, I’m here and I’m bored. I’m just trying to understand the folding paper before me. I’m looking at the screen, but the interest seems to lack. Modern man, apathetic and desensitized to all things. A million souls could have died, a species could have gone extinct, but why should I care? I’m out of snack food.

I took a shot amongst the grandstanding salesmen of the world, and found my voice to be quite pointless. Swimming against a tide, jumping from the river, and right into the claws of the bear.

I took a swing but went out on three pitches, my ideas not solid enough to fly, the people around watching hope more for failure than success. See it in the tabloids, and other such filth. People want to see other people suffer; pretend they’re better than them.

Since they’re not around, I can laugh and pretend there’s no one to let down. I can’t say I’m really shocked, it’s a decent change of pace.

Start the chanting, I want to hear the lines drawn in the sand. It’s a wonderful tone that speaks of bickering and inane reasons for the pointless.

Since they’re not around, I have no one to talk me down. I can’t say I mind at all, they were never good friends.

Climb on their backs, smile to their face, and see how well you can fake it. Is it so hard to fake it? I think not really, Spew out bullshit long enough, and eventually you may actually believe you’re right.

Once again another mess of emotions, I stand by the side and watch as they burn away their cares. Once again I’m a bystander, and my intentions are slowly rendered meaningless. I could see it as the motions began, like the building tension as the roller coaster climbs towards that first drop… and then it’s all downhill from there.

A sudden burst of inertia and I’m flung so far forwards, trying to work it out as I run down the road, finding my place as my belongings are shattered and torn. And they keep pulling me down, trying to find out why I’m still around. I hear whispers of my inability, but I’m just trying to act the part. I hear whispers of why I’m still around, when I should be asking that question myself. Once again they’re enslaved by the motions, pondering how well they’ll fall this time.

The winters keep passing me, sucking the years away from my mind and making me see the past as a road ever growing. So much of me lost along the freeway, so much of my importance not inside my head. The scattering of my ashes soon flashes before my eyes, and I wonder will it have been worth it?

The expenditure of such a short life span ensures they’re all jam packed with pointless and useless conquest. Rape the world, our desires, everything, consume like it won’t be there tomorrow, because as far as we know, it won’t.

Ain’t nobody around, and I’m still thinking as to why I’m by myself and I’ve got next to nothing on my mind. Several fading generations have sprung up and flown away, expanses of time that seem so long to us but are nothing but the blink of an eye.

Aspire and expire, two notes and so easily played out. The wonder and amusement cast before another generation. I look at the wall and wonder if it cares that I’m thinking these things.

Ain’t nobody around, I’m just sitting here by myself, and I’ve got nothing else coming to mind. Ain’t nobody coming around, and I’ll just sit here with too much on my mind.

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