Epitaph

The future is uncertain, the past just a distant memory, the present, nothing more than a blinking of the eye in the passing of mankind. From the beautiful freaks across the valleys and peaks, have you been living out your dream, or just trying to get along, get away and leave it all behind you! The slaves to the sub-consciousness of yesterday, and the lies that they give away, cross you fingers, hope for the best, because you know it’s all been for nothing when it comes to the end!

Big Brother watching you, watching me, watching us watching it, watching every move we make. The frauds, the freaks, the frail and the fakes all wanting their five minutes of fame, but what would you give for just a little taste? Sell your soul, lose control, pass the blame or forget it all, the raping of the mind, heart and body. Consumer power, the power to change, consumed by fear, blinded by hate, so what would you give for a little taste?

But, does any of this really matter? I hear you ask, maybe not but it’s better than writing your own epitaph. It’s nothing more and nothing less that what I am and what I hold within. Beat my bones to the floor and kick me through the fucking doors… the doors that lead to … nothing… just this censored version of man, alone and unglued in the silence of a room, the place that I go to when I feel like I’ve got no face, and think back to when life seemed to have a trace… of meaning… trying hard to remember if there really was ever anything else, in the first instance, or if I imagined every last drop of it.

Just a twist of fate, a twist of the knife, every turn of the tables, every roll of the dice, a future decided on chance, the chances I missed the ground that I kissed, the playground of youth, the boredom of twenty-something angst, the chains of middle age and the death knoll of antiquity, closing in, stifling, suffocating, and its all been for what?

To enjoy your freedom, to taste the air, to die a little more every day and act like you don’t care. Have a retreat in the sun, a place for you to run when you think you’ve had enough, and it’s all got too much, or maybe, just maybe you still give a fuck! Escapism reigns, but you’re escaping from what?

From the framework of a regressive, fucked up society, reaching out for something, for the last remnants of sanctity within these four walls, free expression, free fall, free will and the call… of the whores, the vagrants, the sheep and the puppet master, bigger, better, harder and faster, more, more, more.

So make up your mind before the lights go out and we go home, and forget all that we’ve learnt and all that we’ve done, all that we prayed for and all we’ve become. Do you seriously think that you’re the only one with your mouth wide open and fingers like tongues?

So if nothing ever changed, would it still be the same, and if so, does the question still remain unchanged? Who, why, where and what, how much do you want and how much more have you got. If you had the world could you give it all away, if only on the promise of one last day? One last day to bask in the sunshine and reflect on your clear and present life and take that long lonesome walk, along the edge of a razor blade, head on towards your clear and present death, nervous sweat stinging your eyes, your hands gripping to every precious thought that you’ve ever had, grinding your teeth, finding it harder to breathe, so maybe now is the time to leave.