forget armageddon

it's in between hell and earth

where there is heaven

just a piece, sure

but it's the slice of life we endure

that makes the breaking and making

of bent backs worth the labour

that refuse to believe it was a favour

you made it, in spite of

despite your, lame arms and sore heart

don't blame yourself for kicking and screaming

you were trying hard to not quit believing

don't take it personally when they verse you

they were just trying to make believe too

it's not you.

it's us.

the muck, the muddled who make a fuss

about the things that don't make sense

about what does not matter

what sits in our heads

you believe

you see

you, me

we

i'm so tired i could die

so dire i try

so tried that i cry

and just lie

down

wishing it would all slow down

so i can fucking think before i mow down

slow down

i always thought that when i made it

i'd go balls deep into helping

so that it makes some difference

but we're all yelping

in some depressing animal shelter

all of us still dreaming

of making it

we made it

today

and tomorrow

and the day after

dreading the day we die

trying to get rich to buy

another day

just to make it

to heaven

hell is far worse

a curse?

superstition

first?

a position

thirst?

greed for living

nursed?

a paid wife

late?

just a date

a sick sigh

euphemisms for tired eyes

rewind a little

isn't this the gift of random-ness?

a twist of the sandman’s plot?

the remarkable angles and holes

the fucking kissing and loving

the joy of becoming

the noise of something

that makes the heart swell

like wooden sandals in water

the rising tides crushing

when you feel something so amazing

you howl like a wolf at the moon

and feel no bitterness

because when

you slow down

and shiver

from the fever

of being alive

you sigh

you made it another day

and will tomorrow

and the day after

and that's heaven

even, in hell