bottled blues

when i die, make sure my eulogy doesn't turn me into a hero. don't tell the world it's a tragedy. don't cry at my funeral or show my face on the 6 o'clock news. i'm no princess di and it's a scam to think i'll ever even come close. no one ever will.

when i die, i need you to make them hate me. make children dance on my grave. make the world's last dying breath whisper "thank god i wasn't her". paint me a murderer, a harbinger of doom and hatred and oppression - draw me in black and white.

isn't it funny how people change when they're at gunpoint? i'm the coward that begged my often overlooked god for forgiveness as the safety snapped off. i am the shell of a person, worth measured in dollars and sense. too bad we're in the infrared.

i scam myself into thinking the opposite, and this just makes it worse.

dinosaurs are only beautiful because they're in the past. if you met a dinosaur in your backyard at three am this morning, you'd hate it. you'd hate it for waking you up and killing your plants and taking up space and just living.

prehistoric role reversal.

you only hold me up like this 'cause you don't know who i really am.

you're supposed to know yourself in your entirety at some point in your life. what do you do when you're the best liar you know? what do you do if even you believe the snake oil you're selling? what then? what do i do now?

i am nothing. you are nothing. we are nothing. they are nothing. mass is just the opposite of space. somehow, this is still nothing.

i am a[SHAM]ed.