Southbound Plane to Ride

From Bipolar Confessional...

"Southbound Plane to Ride"

Skirting 'round the boredom of the day
Is a skill
I have developed
Through the long, empty years
Thrust upon me by mean 'ol One-Eye
A temporary fix
Still useful for a time
It keeps the push from becoming a shove
A defense mechanism
Manipulation of time, streams of ballast
All the while
Weakening
This becomes obvious as
The voices tell me it is so
They keep me awake at night
There's no shutting them up
Not hateful tones
These shadows don't accuse
They only want to help
But they don't have a goddamn clue how to go about it
They don't listen well
Because they aren't sure if I'm the one doing the talking
They don't trust the other
Or maybe they don't know the other
Perhaps they feel as if they are anchoring me to reality
Telling me I should hoard
That I need these things for my own
That I could actually own these things
When all the while I have no illusions
Any of it could ever be kept
I know something they don't
It's not worth keeping
They won't be convinced, though
And so their benevolence
Drives me out of my mind, for a short break

They dropped the charges
The killer got off
No one ever knew
He went to his grave
Happy, smiling
Guiltless in his own mind
With blood on his hands

I saw her lying on the road as I drove by
The ambulance had only just arrived
No shattered glass on the ground
No smashed vehicle for the rubber neckers
Just some old guy bent over her
Checking to see if she were hurt badly
I didn't see any blood
But she wasn't moving

---