The only reason I have so many vices is
that the one I grew up in left such an impression.
Skin scarred and hardened, whiter flesh speaking, singing
of tears and tears and cuts and the disappointment
of a world that insists it cover itself in the rain.
“Feel this, this is good, even though it feels bad.
Don’t feel that, that feels good, which is bad.”
I don’t know which contradiction to believe.
The sociological disease, a pandemic,
“Do what I say, not what I do!”
while I learn to do what you do,
not what you say.
And we all go the same way.
Feet sore, back broken, an honest day’s work done.
And what of it?
“At least I’ve always worked.”
No ambition.
that the one I grew up in left such an impression.
Skin scarred and hardened, whiter flesh speaking, singing
of tears and tears and cuts and the disappointment
of a world that insists it cover itself in the rain.
“Feel this, this is good, even though it feels bad.
Don’t feel that, that feels good, which is bad.”
I don’t know which contradiction to believe.
The sociological disease, a pandemic,
“Do what I say, not what I do!”
while I learn to do what you do,
not what you say.
And we all go the same way.
Feet sore, back broken, an honest day’s work done.
And what of it?
“At least I’ve always worked.”
No ambition.
An early lay-off, telly and bed and the grin of senescence.
And what of it?
“I tried my best.”
No ambition.
One by one, paths erased.
One by one, advisers passed away.
Frustrated by not knowing which way to go.
Ambition.
No direction.
This is why we need each other.
