What Was Meant and What Was Done

I have a hard enough time sleeping at home, let alone sleeping in other places.  Always believing I am going to be raped again for passivity or robbed or worse.  They're coming for you.  They always are, it's just that sometimes you get to see them coming and sometimes you do not.

I'm not afraid of death.  That's silly.  Everyone dies.  Everyone suffers.  I've gifted you the daylight hours so stay out of my evening.  Is simple enough to say.  Much more complicated to live by.  Why is it necessary?  A matter of control?  To an extent.  A matter of provocation?  Also, to an extent.  Consider it a dictation of terms.

If I am to die, let it be beneath a sun.  That's not asking too much.  Constantly hunted, can a body be blamed for wanting a reversal of roles?  Outfoxed the ghosts.... this time.... not really.  Still outside.  Every time I open my front door they're there.  Monsters underneath the bed, if you will.  Acceptable terms of endearment.

I don't understand.  Call me atheist or call me fractured.   Or call me by my name so that I know you are and are not a glitch trip.  I'll appreciate it.  I may not say so, but I'll appreciate it.  I may not say so because I know they're listening too and watching too and it took them some years to be vocal as they are and a division had to come or risk carrying on with, for lack of a better term, phantoms.

Paranoia has been nibbling.  I've been thinking very long and very hard about a reasonable solution.  What we came to was, this year, we will wear a straw woven hat.  It'll look good on me.  And that's something!  Something to roll on with.

No one means to stand watch all night.  Everyone breaths a little easier knowing another one has passed and the weapons can be laid down again because the sun is a very very very reliable and undeniable night light.




///Sneaker Pimps - "Wife By Two Thousand"  mr. noename