Honesty

It's days like these that I am tempted to blow my brains out.
I fantasize about the roar of the shotgun, a scream of death, tunneling through the rippled tissue of the roof of my mouth,
whipping my fucked up brain matter into one disgusting milkshake,
exploding out of my skull in a burst of violence.
After all this excitement, I fall back covered in a ruby red blanket, gravity slamming human atoms on the floor.
I swear to God if this was a sculpture in some fancy ass exhibit it would be highly recognized as brilliant fucking art.    
And before I go on, no, I'm not highly suicidal.
I don't need a hotline, bastard ass head shrink, or psychoanalysis,
(though I'll gladly take a pill or two).
No. I'm just a youngling with quite the imaginative mentality and the common knowledge that life is more of a bitch than a blessing.
Hell, even when I'm done thinking of this, I mentally step back and say, "Damn woman. Seek out some sleep, a drink, or a joint because you need to calm your shit."
And while I'm not an addict on anything, I am an addict on questioning humanity.
I constantly wonder what would happen if everybody just sucked up their pride, found their morality, realized they were being a dick and said sorry to a total stranger.
That the world would be a better place if they weren't busy being lemmings because 'all the cool people are doing it' or 'it's for the greater good.'
Life would be pretty simple that way.
But centuries past and present have proven human beings haven't quite figured that out yet.
My idea of paradise is an education that taught me what I needed to know in the world, rather than the months struggle of algebra that will never be of use to me in the slightest.
A good job that pays well and makes me happy, with no corporate chain behind it, a man that knows when I fucking say I love you I damn well mean it, so please don't ever be a douchebag that throws my heart and body around like it's a commonplace object like most of my generation these days. (Lucky for him he's a smart one).
A mother that knows how to let her child grow.
A father that knows he's good to let go.
And a fridge full of kick ass food, lower gas prices, a sensational music collection, and 100% effective birth control would be nice too.
Maybe one day with fate (and science!) one should be so lucky.
Until then, suck up your smoothies, tear up your love notes, (as those kind of words need to be said in person)and lay down your battle axes.
We're all crazy here, so don't be shy.