The Vent

Tonight is a night of insanity.

When my life is set against the length of time,
the entire length of time,
it becomes a particle... insignificant.
It is these instances when i could die
without regret.
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Of course, it is these instances my mind becomes detached
from reality. Reality states "you have to work tomorrow."
Reality always has a 'tomorrow' for you to consider.
But what is tomorrow? what exactly is tomorrow?

Tomorrow is both the dawn of a new day
and the digging of a thousand fresh new graves.
Tomorrow is the timid expression of Today.
And in passing, it is the dream of Yesterday.

It is nights like these when insanity
takes a twist of reality
and is gently poured into a cup, with ice.
It is a drink called "life on the rocks".
The universe drinks it. Slowly.
and when it gulps it,
some stir and weep, and scream
the word 'unfair'.

But is death a matter of justice?
only the sadists would like to think so
those who condemn at the twitch of an eyebrow
who fiddle with the buttons of their shirts
and curse in whispered, stuttered words.

It is unfair of this mind to think such things,
to negate and deny and doubt truths
to kill hopes and breastfeed uncertainty
into the mouths of the confused.

It is unfair of this mind to think...
and the television takes on a new dimension,
the faeces that flow from the t.v.
that people eat in spoonfuls, visually.
The eyes are two stones that reflect.

Yes. I see it all too clearly,
my eyes have accustomed to the dark.
The reflections on the wall
no longer seem so scary.

It is now tuesday morning,
the very early hours of the morning,
before the larks begin to pray.
Yes. It is a new day,
and I must sleep, and then
work.