18 Years of God Damn Bullshit: A Memoir

Escapism

((TW// death mention))

January 1, 2020

There is a property of time
That seems to run and slip my mind
Whenever I look in the sky
It does speak to me

No one knows where I truly go
When I sink into the great unknown
For in this way, I seem to have left and flew

My spirit is a travelling sun
My mind's spool is long overspun
And aren't you the curious one
To ask me where I've gone

I'll never claim to be too wise
But when moving faces laugh and pry
I feel as though I must be quite perceptive

For how could I explain to them
Or even attempt to begin
My favorite way to become nothing at all

I don't remember when I first tried
But I do recall that time I died
And saw nor felt naught but a baby blue

And now when I'm awake instead
Of trying to die or to be dead
I simply inflate my rounded head
And find the emptiness again

I figure I can't be the only one
To watch the tufted white and sun
Pass over a hundred trillion times a day

Though I don't see them just yet
I know we certainly must've met
And I probably just forgot, as I often do

For sometimes in the prose of song
I hear that familiar place I belong to
And find another who has seen the blue

If you ever want to try
Just stare up until your eyes cry
And begin to think less and less of things

With your head gone and away
And at least one reason left to stay
You've found the best way to die for a day

Though it may not last an hour
You can come back feeling old and sour
As a crone, for the blue isn't one to leave you still naiive

But if you're weary and tired as I
I suggest you take a chance to fly
Incomparable joy is found in those who have died