941pm

like a prison like unconcerned steel bars keeping you safely inside a third floor window while a loving fire caresses you and whisper/sings ooh child or umm like maybe the bomberos are outside ok but they are not holding that giant bulls eye thing for you to jump into and save yourself or

like

maybe a better way to say it would be something like the bomberos do not have the proper equipment and therefore cannot rescue you from the consuming flames if we are indeed engaged in a discourse on semantics which

ah

you know

basic conversation often is these days becuz

one: nothing is ever anyone's fault

two: everyone already knows everything

three: and has every answer anyway

right?

i mean there are also other reasons but like who has time for long lists etc and plus you are not going to feel any better anyway if i type one item after another detailing why no one actually communicates outside of cataloging their needs and droning on and on about who wronged them yada yada

blah blah blah.

but yeah.

it is like a fire.

or a tomb. listen. there is no escape.

and the tv only makes you tired and hungry.

and the jesus ladies knocking at the door look at you like you look at them.

and the and

dude.

everything swirls up from the ground and falls from the vaults and you do not know where to go.

do you?

you freeze.

you forget to breathe.

and then finally when you regain focus on the situation at hand you discover that the heat continues to surround you like you are one of nebuchadnezzar's prisoners sans the elohim looking out for the best interests of you and your two homies.

and somewhere - and this is the really fucked up part if you ask me - somewhere in the back of your head a little voice keeps telling you over and over that at one time the fire was inside you

and you were going to do something to the world with the flames.

remember?

i know you do.

i was there.