This thing
goes way d
                    e
                      e
                        p
              ­            e
                            r
This thinking
it is merely coincidence
It never *is
Everything happens for a reason

Its all been planned
Were jumping out of the frying pan
Into the fire
Our great escape thwarted by mechanations

So             Buy         a new TV
         Buy a new car
Buy a new cell phone, apple or android
Sell your soul
And forget about the problems in the world

And any time and every time
In systems and schemes
Meant as diversion
To keep the everyman blind

Its all been planned
Since the very beginning

I Remember THAT Day

I remember that day

I remember that day

THAT DAY………….I FOUND YOU!!!
I remember that ….*******, ****** ***, **** YOUR LIFE TYPE OF **** DAY

We were both just fifteen years old, so rebellious but shy in our own right minds

You were just fifteen years old, when I found you slouched over the steering wheel of your mother’s 1978 Red Ford Pinto

YES, that red Ford Pinto with the rusted out, broken muffler, busted right tail light and six dents on the passenger door (that we caused when we were just 13)

YES, that red Ford Pinto that your mother insisted on driving us to school in, only to have us insisting on her dropping us off a block early, why, because we were too embarrassed to get caught seen in that “hunk of junk”, “*******”, red Ford Pinto.

I sat down next to you, in that red Ford Pinto, but you breathed not one single breathe out of your blue stained lips. I screamed at you “WAKE THE HELL UP, **** YOU!!”
My voice cracked with apology, I was so wrong to yell at you, as thoughtless anger filled my heart with sinful hate. But still not a single breathe passed through your lips.
I whispered in your ear “I am sorry”

I remember, that day and that single note you left on the dusty, cracked dashboard of that red Ford Pinto. That note with scribbled letters running across the wrinkled white paper and the pen that you dropped on the floorboard. That note that read “I don’t understand WHYYYYYYY”

That last letter on that note, that you penned, was flown across the paper as if you didn’t want to leave. THAT LAST letter gouged the wrinkled white paper with remorse and apologies. I felt every syllable that you wrote stapled across my chest as if I was being pierced by a thousand sewing needles that were trying to mend my severed, bleeding heart.

I REMEMBER THAT DAY, IN THAT RED FORD PINTO, WHEN I LAID MY HEAD ON YOUR BARE SHOULDER AND HELD YOU CLOSE TO ME. I REMEMBER OUR FINAL EMBRACE.

I REMEMBER THAT DAY, IN YOUR MOTHER’S 1978 RED FORD PINTO, WE WERE BOTH JUST FIFTEEN YEARS OLD, SO REBELLIOUS BUT SHY IN OUR OWN RIGHT MINDS, I REMEMBER TAKING MY FINAL BREATHE AS I HEARD THE GARAGE DOOR START TO OPEN.