There is not too much wisdom in all of this narcissistic self destruction, no matter what change you see it bringing on, it's not like immolations in Tunisia or Vietnam. There's not too much foresight in all of these dark premonitions that you're sure will come true in time, you don't live in the world inside your head, you can only go up in there to die
So is it just more self-aggrandizement if I assure that to pay you back how I would burn alive, to right the wrongs of my caustic self, to reverse the perverseness and to undo the damage dealt. How I built up a structure of meaning and hope and sent seismic waves bringing it to the ground, I don't wanna turn them inward now as this dramatic monologue is more broing than profound
And all of the scenery is laughing derisively at me cuz I can't remember the pages with the circled numbers in the book of 95 poems that I thought could signify everything back when I was loneliness inside of a falling leaf, when I was autumn and the rain, the rain, the rain
So if I blow up, leave a marker there written to someone else. Make it say "fuck depression, live life like you love yourself"
If I burn down let me grow green and new from my charred out shell and tell me "fuck your depression, live life like you love yourself"
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