I've been waiting my whole life to blow something up,
set the timer on the detonator and just wait it out.
There's a gun in my head, but I've never quite been able
to pull the trigger and cerebrally bleed my way into oblivion
where some part of me believes there is a world of mindless peace;
how heaven must seem to those religious sheep impaling themselves
on white picket fences, just so they never have to ask themselves
why the world doesn't make sense.
I'm a man-made miracle born with the gift of self-destruction
like holy ascension was ever an option when I've spent most of my days
in the anti-social contemplation of death
my entire being moulded from fire and brimstone, the wires in my head
assigned the secret task of killing me slowly via the disease of dis-ease.
Would you miss me if I was gone? I missed me when I was gone.
And now we're back here, there are tears in my eyes again,
for all the wrong reasons - for all the right reasons - for no reason at all.
I've been waiting my whole life to blow something up
There's a gun in my head
I didn't think about dying
© Indie Adams 2012