I tried to be good but I’m too far gone, and guilt is a bad tooth you can’t pull. I tried to be bad, and I’m selfish enough, but there’s a hole no fucks and shits, spilled rum and dead pussy can fill. I tried to be nothing and that’s easy enough, no action, no output, just greed and words. It’s easy enough, easy is fine. It’s easy enough, easy is fine. And eventually I saw what the world looks like to a man who feels nothing. It was here I learned about this little spark, that persists no matter the poison I pour on it. I love it.
I don’t know what it needs. I’m stuck here with it like a new parent listening to his child cry. I panicked for a while, I gave it everything I could think of. I spoke to it about the humbling and consoling nature of infinity and wonders of the universe contained within. Words, just words. It sputtered and cracked but it became no brighter. I spoke to the wise men and sought the wisdom of the ages. Words, just words. So I turned my back on it. Sat, staring in to nothing, with no direction or will or reason or passion. I had failed at love. It was cold and sorry, the man with no warmth. I let everything go and for a second there was nothing. Even cold and sorrow’d had enough. Then there was warmth. A tepid tramp stamp at the base of my spine, but it wasn’t nothing, and it was growing, not shrinking.
I’m not going to look and see and deduce the fuel, I know I will only smother the flame when I find out. I’m comfy here anyway, its warm and I’m not worried. Its warm and I’m not worried.