the whole kaboodle

why do we lie and pretend
that everything’ll be fine without end
happy now, honest, not in the least bit scared
that tomorrow will catch one unawares
every day spent looking to the past
trying to make it last so nostalgia can never fade
or dreaming of the future and living in its haze.
always hoping that something better will come along
but never looking.

— this has been hanging around in embryonic form for a few years. seem to have finally got out it today, though.

so easy to get lost in the hi-def screen
“vegging out” with volume up high
just a staring, open mouthed wreck
out of which comes a despairing sigh

captured in the moment
but unconscious as a stone
minutes hours days pass
and still you feel alone

— a shorter one today. the words just ran out, probably something to do with watching too much T in the Park (on a lo-def screen, should you care).

it’s desperately hard to concentrate
when the air is this hot
can’t change this, you can’t escape
you can’t become something you’re not

a storm threatens on the horizon
but it never seems to come
a thunderclap, a warning sign
but never anything done.

(eventually)
the rain pours down and washes away
the sins of yesterday.
but you have to hold on and pretend what’s gone
is always going to stay.

wracked with guilt and responsibility
you want to wish it all away
even though you hold onto it
every single day.

(glamour in bruising and style in death)
we’re addicted to pain and it feels natural as breath.
so the more we fight, the better we feel
as we grip onto conflict and our words of steel
we argue and blame and accuse and we lie
locked up in the cycle, we won’t stop ’til we die
if we’re on the retreat or on the attack
we hope that the warfare will make up our lack
we label and judge and we dig our trenches long
we don’t want to consider we might just be wrong
never accepting and always left wanting more
we’re addicted to pain though it makes our lives sore.

life’s so cruel. you think you’ve got it sorted
but then it all falls down. the finger is pointed
at you, the fool. the battle was started
but then you lost. you’ve just fallen over
on a loose stone: the ball swings towards you
so put your hand out and catch it. throw it back.
show them how you want it to be played.

[written ages ago, but I'm not sure when. so it gets posted "now".]

a web of debt we hope to spin
its silky surface tempts us in
and when built, we’re trapped and with no escape
we build our riches of despair and hate.

the banks they lend and the banks they take
with a mortgage on your life, you pay
crying: “let me spend all that i don’t have”
they let you spend much more than that.