Greetings From an Epiphany Long Forgotten
by Adam Gaucher
Tuesday, April 16, 2002
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"You sick bastard" keeps running from my
mind, directed at me with a smile. My
chest caves-in in silent laughter, I'm
in public for Christ's sake, I can't
afford vacations. It's bad
enough that they can hear my heart beating,
catching a glimpse off my insanity in their eyes.
They don't realize that the purity they taste
is in the air I've exhaled. Another thing
is that it's been so long, since I've
been trapped in the void, in the cliché itself.
Sweetness swirls bringing love and singing,
in key where keys lie to unlock
selfish desires. I've got nothing to
live for, that's my whole fucking
point, child. I care for my
space as wasting wastes away again.
I can sit sipping life through
only life itself, it was a free gift,
why should we expect anything (else) from it?
It's like expecting your legs to
walk forever, like wishing your stars
to collect dust no longer, like
fishing missing links in a fabricated
river, like dying in warm arms with
no thirst or hunger.
We love to hate when perception
is cluttered, from one another to another
to another again, and it is
there we sit oblivious to the fact,
that it is ourselves
that we are hating instead.