And it may not be the easiest thing but it definitely isn't the hardest.
I'm packing my bags because we've run our course and of course we ran the race as hard and as long as we could, but all good things must come to an end.
The fun stopped when the love went, and the love went when we both stopped trying, now we love what we love and we love what we remember so we're chasing a memory, loving the past and who we we were but who we are now isn't what we wanted and it both shows.

It may not be the easiest thing but it definitely isn't the hardest thing, so walking away is better than living the lie of love that we both remember, emotions lost and time spent well.

They tell you it’s a game and then they toy with you, they say that life is to be taken seriously and they make a joke of you.
They say that this is the way that all life works yet they don’t share the troubles you do.

It’s a savage mockery of a cash-on-hand ruling class that plays make believe with our “opportunities” I’m starting to feel as if they’ve made a fool of me.

They say that life is yours then they occupy your time, they push you for more hours and less pay as if it were sublime and at the end of the day the taxman takes some away, it seems like its all just savage mockery.

We ride the Ferris wheel of change and our ups are always followed by lows and we end where we started, both feet firmly planted on the ground and the fun is suddenly over.
We’re actors and clowns, we’re tightrope walkers and high flyers, dreamers, screamers and make-believers but it’s all an act, it’s a show and we dance for entertainment because once the pretty lights stop we are back on the road, tired, broke and always feeling used.

Exploited.

If only we could change, yet we just don’t know any other way.
This is the way we’ve been told the way that life is since birth and those lucky few who have managed to find a new sideshow to join have found they themselves must answer to the people above them.

It’s savage mockery and it always drips down, so abuse rolls down and we all fall victim to someone.

There is a long, dark well and at the bottom lies a million words and phrases that have never been said or paired together, it is a wellspring of thought and form, it is a natural deposit of untouched visuals and emotion.

It haunts us as we can only gather bits and pieces and as we carry them to the light of day to express them, sometimes they get lost in transport or they don’t come out right.

We climb down the well and from the sides and bottom we scrape and grab, we collect and mine, we do all we can to harvest the words of which we try and make a living.
We stake a claim and hope its not too close to anyone else’s claim, there no allowances when words are in the mix, theft of thought is theft of a high order.

We sweat, we bleed, we slam our heads and hearts against the well and look up to the sky, but we now we can’t return yet. We cant return until we have our piece, until we have a enough to make the lack of sleep, the lack of food, the lack of interaction worth it.
The take must outway the work, the effort must always be smaller than the reward.

Sometimes that’s easy, sometimes we strike a vein and follow the trail of thought and words until we drain it dry, on those days the work is small compared to the reward, the reverse is that sometimes we will sit in hours and weeks in the word pit, sifting through pebbles and thought trying to salvage something, trying to show something for our efforts.

The word pit has been and always will be, they can be found in every country, in every heart break, in every coming of age, romance, death, tragedy, comedy, in every story or event, every person has a word pit that they can climb into it and all it requires are some proper tools and the right skill set.

Caution for the gas won’t **** you, you needn’t a canary for this pit, however you will need to be mindful of yourself, be aware of your actions and be aware of what you handle and reveal, the power of words has prompted people to take radical action, it has prompted lies and sin, it has prompted fear and envy.

Words have as much power as the induvial would allow them, some inspire, some create, some work and drive because of them, so be mindful of the words and how they are presented;
For when you delve into the word pit, you are no longer just a person with thoughts- you become a person with the power to express those thoughts in such a way that they can far reach the seas and mountain tops- and in that journey, in that power of range, ideas can become so much more.

It starts in the well.

I stand, unbroken by weather.
Complete I am, I stand still against all, I stand against all.
Unmotivated by money, money I am unmotivated by you.

I stand, stand unbroken by time.
I am unmoved by love, love does not fuel me.

I am complete.
I am completely unbroken.

Unbroken, I am.

Ugly is beautiful, ugly is under the pretty skin and colors we wear.

When one thinks of art and the beauty of words it must always sound nice, it must follow and follow traditional laws of language;
**** that.

Art is an expression of self and soul is it not?
Humans don’t all have beauty in them, humans don’t always have some wonderful soul or righteous heart, so why should all art show the beauty of life?

Why not mock the beauty? Why not admit that sometimes we’re ugly, sometimes we’re crass, cold and vile?
Are we not all we are? Do our life experiences not shape and make us?

Life is not perfect and we all have pitfalls, everyone is flawed yet when it comes to art we deny the fact and mask it by saying “art reflects the tragedy” or “I use art to express my pain” and in that way, we make it romantic, but what if, we just showed it as it is.
What if we just said exactly what we’re feeling, what we’re thinking, what we want?

Must we use the beauty of words and paint and rock to hide our shame, or fear, to mask our greed and lust?
Sometimes people aren’t pretty, sometimes they have no soul, so what if some art was ugly?

What if I didn’t use proper words or language
Or started to; break up words by what-ever means I saw fit for the piece?

It would confuse, it would anger, it would look bad.
But that would be closer to human than always trying to turn some act of woe into some poetic moment.
For a moment reject the beauty, reject the urge to be clever or pristine, smear some mud across the page, ugly can be beautiful in itself because ugly is just that.

You are not the best, you are not the best looking, the fastest, the strongest, smartest, you do not know everything- so it would make sense that art at times should be flawed, that art should be ugly and broken, that art should offend you at times.
There is a humbleness to be found in ugly art, in art that is raw and exposed.
Once you take away the fluff that people are attracted to, once you strip her down and expose what she is, you may find that while some art is a flawless figure in her **** skin- other art may be torn, ripped and festering with disease but she’s not hiding anything in that moment- and on top of that. She doesn’t care.
Why should every poem sound nice?
Why should art have rules and laws?

Of course, we must have laws and standards, of course we must have laws and rules HOWEVER in times and for somethings- breaking that mold, stepping outside of the box, that is needed.
I say ugly art hides nothing and shows everything, pure surface value with no hidden meaning or deeper philosophy, which won’t do for some people.

Some people will rip art apart to understand its meaning refusing to believe in face value because they can’t understand the face value of ugly, they have to have something pretty, they have to have something clever or witty or something they can cling to as being elite as if that somehow places them above the social stature at which they reside.

Trust in ugly art, trust in unpoetic words, trust in blemished statues, trust in unpolished raw music, trust in ugly from time to time.

Today was a good day,
I woke up and loaded my gun, going postal is the plan.
No real reason, no real plan, just pick a place and aim for people.

Here’s the school, here’s the office, here’s the steeple, steady hand and aim for people.
Hair trigger and hog wild, going ape but having too much fun to care.
Smile on my face or least on the mask I wore today;
Left the house today with a plan to see the bodies drop by my hand.

It’s as much fun as you can have on a Monday.
Service on the Sunday gets shaken up with I burst down the door, pulled my trigger and watch the bodies hit the floor.
The mall was more fun after I lit up the food court,
The movies were a scream filled with screams from the survivors.
Picture day and everyone is dressed to impress at least they dressed for the funerals.

Today was the plan, just drop as many as I can.
No one to stop my fun, no one saw it coming and as soon as I started I moved on, location, location, location and the hospital is next.

Quick stop at the post office to take it back to where it all began.
Falling down is fun as long as you take everyone with you.
Now some will say I’m crazy, or some will say I lost it or some will say I snapped along the way, but they’re just repressed. I do what they think about.
They would love to blow away the people they complain about on a daily basis.

Just get a gun, get your gun Johnny, get your gun Jenny, get your gun Janie and Tommy’s got his gun.
We can go the park on Saturday and make a field day out of the people swinging on the swings, we can hunt the hunters, we can hunt the sheeple.
Run rabbit run, I’ll give you a ten second head start but I’ll close the distance and soon you’ll be boring, I’ll need a new target.

I need a new mark.

Silence in the library, good thing silencers come in all sizes.
I’m having too much fun to stop, I’m usually bored and pent up, *** was staring to bore me. Work was wearing me down and school was full of drama and **** kids;
I found myself a hobby, something to let off steam.
It doesn’t take much to have this kind of fun, just aim and laugh as you gun em down.

Drive-in movie turns out to be a drive by spray of fun.
Parking lot like fish in a barrel, doing donuts before driving away into the night.
Night club is my next stop and its pack to the brim, dance floor center and work outwards.

Now some will say I’m violent and others will call me a monster but when we speak of expression, which of us is repressed?
I pull a trigger to get rid of stress while you do drugs, cheat on your lover and talk bad about everyone behind their backs, you stress over stress and can’t ever seem to get it to clear;

On the flip I got a smile on my face as I skip through downtown just shooting off at the hip;
Rich, Poor, Black, White, Elderly, Children- no difference to me.
I take aim and just let the bullet travel true and fast.
A shot to the heart really gets me going, I laugh and sprint down the street gotta hide from police now, hide and seek and while I hide in plain sight I take this time to mark some new marks.

I sleep easy at night having blown my stress away, I know you say you don’t like people but let me tell you, you’re being antisocial.
People make life fun and the couple who go out together die hand in hand by the hand holding my gun.

This is my rifle, this is my gun, this isn’t a social experiment and this is for fun.

And the world looks so different
The faces, places, people go and we’re all just marching in toe, but that’s just part of the show.
The stagehands, directors and actors know that the play is a mockery of what we do in daily life, just to distract from the strife.
but that’s not always the wisest option.
So, we take our seats and silence our phones, the house light drops down low and Heaven above mocks Hell below but this is just daily life with no flash or show;
So, we wear our masks and costumes to give the beauty of illusion and as we grow we learn to lie, we learn to hide the truth and dignity gets sacrificed which is why our children can’t learn from our mistakes.
And people asked where were you when the fell apart, as if you should have the answer that would satisfy; I was hiding in plain sight but that isn’t good enough for you.
Where were you the day that it happened and tragedy struck or was it just coincidence that you were nowhere to be seen; perhaps you were hiding too. So, the players have their parts and the tragic stage is set and once our play starts we’ll be torn apart by mutual love of criticism and with nothing to fall back on we merely fade away; the true death of showmanship.