The Myth of Math and Meth
November 29th, 2014

The Mossberg pump took a dump on my chest,
yeah, you wielded it so well and then wandered off west,
A face full of fists would’ve felt better than this;
just knock me out cold – give me the concrete kiss.

A galactic fraction of my heart has been severed,
it’s all dead space now, and you never endeavored,
no, not once did you own up to the corruption that you caused,
you just left me in the aftermath, but only after you had paused.

Yeah, you took one look back and laughed at the sight –
this scene soaked in sorrow with a backdrop burning bright,
‘cause you torched the town that we traversed and cursed,
and reversed over my body as if you had rehearsed.

A honk from behind and I’m reminded that I’m dreaming,
and that you’re not out there somewhere hating me and scheming,
Pinched nerve and my car swerves swiftly to the right,
and I’ve lost control and have begun to roll through the red light.

It’s tragic this traffic can’t take me away –
I can’t seem to stay centered, ‘cause when I am they sway,
and they avoid my apparition, assuming that I’m real,
but I assure you I’m dead – I won’t feel the rushing steel.

Intercepted this inception – this dream within a dream,
and I almost let it happen, ‘cause I like when your eyes gleam,
and I like that I’m forgetting what’s real and what can’t be –
it’s all just one big blur now and I don’t much care to see.

I was just trying to remember the last November or two,
but frankly I’m forgetting all the time wasted on you.