It's a Mess

This is a god damned mess!
It is all one big god damned mess
Its the hands of the clocks that move with repitition
Its a place that comfort is closing your eyes to the television in the daytime
with tough men and children pretending that they don't cry
and its the roads that lead only onto others
Littered with homes and apartments
to store and fill up to the top with our idea's of what we believe it is like to be perfectly alive
Undershirts and empty soda cans
End tables and lingerie
Our complexion behind sateen embroidered curtains
Its the longing for a phone call
From some creature of distraction
To try and make the time push faster
So you can get to bed and dream up ways of how you will do it all over again tomorrow
Its a mess
It's standing outside in 10 below zero to make an honest dollar
and spending it on people who will always be there to let you know it isn't enough
And SOMETIMES
Its even the music now, that sounds like white noise and synthesisers committing suicide
and ill-shapen teenybopper's raving on about sex and love
Spiritless art
A fucking mess...
I read a poem just the other day about writing becoming a dead format
Apparently nobody likes to read anymore
and it went on as if words were at war
and I knew deep down in the back of my mind that my words have always been at war
and I could hear the disdained voices of my father and of his father
Telling me that pessimism isn't very becoming
That there is wisdom in being pleasant
and so much light in the world that I claim to know
and hey... That's okay.
These are the discretion's of war

Its a god damned mess
and it keeps piling up and we keep cleaning
Until the floors sparkle in the light and you could eat a meal off of the toilet seat
Thinking that we are always one step ahead by doing so
Too clever for fate
Until the shit comes piling back in
Its the man walking by you on the sidewalk holding his head down so as not to make eye contact
Its the fear of death when only the dead are smiling
Its a mess
and you live it
Feel it
Breathe it
Know it
and you make love to it in the dark
Out of sight and out of mind
and don't you know,
Ive got to be alright with this every now and again
Because if words are at war then our everyday lives have become the battlegrounds
Our downtown's and shopping mall's are the Vimy ridge's and Auschwitz's of today
Sharp shooters hidden away in book stores
Mortars planted in our backyards
pummelling us all to the ground with ideologies and conviction
The mess is you and I
Making all the wrong choices
Considering the fact that we could possibly live for 50 years
or 60 years
or 100 years
or forever
When the verity of the matter is distant at best
and some of you deserve the death
and the ones who do never die
and the shit pile grows bigger
and the Hitlers and sadists and backstabbers become your friends
Because there are no seraphim's left
None beside you
But there are words to express this type of segregation
Words at war
and even those are a mess