Yeah that's right! I'm tired... Fed up... Past caring... Done!
I have had enough of milling around with sleepwalkers, people that just drift through life in a dream state. Those people that float around of the floor, dipping their feet into any pool that looks briefly interesting and then flittering off like a flirtatious hummingbird. You look into their lifeless eyes and see a failure of a perfectly good human specimen. You listen to their inane droll about any pointless subject and wonder why you're there, letting this fleshy android take up your time; a possession which is perpetually leaving its owner. You wonder what will become of them but don't let the thought linger too long. Otherwise you'll turn into that mess that drifts between this world and their own with painful obliviousness.
I'm tired of those people who wasted their lives in pursuit of the wrong thing. The guy that you knew in school that took his image too far and ended up in jail for murder; quick witted and acid tongued, now doomed to fall into the trap. What about that girl you knew; the one that thought she was too nice, let herself slip a couple of times and ended up with a bundle of kids, no job and no support from those around her. Where will her looks get her now? They're not gonna raise the kids, i'll tell you that much. The boy that went and got himself killed over silly squabbles, leaving a devastated mother with a broken pot that is now her life. Or the friend you once had that was so talented, but just did nothing with their lives, just sat around all day smoking weed, playing games and letting time tick away. Aren't you tired?
I'm past caring about the people who are so ordinary, yet think they are above all the others. Certain people act a little too pompous, walking all over the place like they got rainbows pouring out of their backside, thinking they smell like roses and acting like the sneeze golden nuggets out of their nose. No matter how great someone is, what makes them any greater than any other. Who says because someone has been blessed with a melodic singing voice that they are better than the nurses that slave away at their prison-like workplaces. Why because someone is pretty are they elevated into a position of ultimate influence, when the ugly baboon is made to sit at home in the dark, trying to devise a plot to make themselves into the people they despise so much.
I'm done with the stereotypes that mar us all our lives. Because he is an Arab man on a plane, he's not about to blow you up, you cretin! Sit back down and shut up. Because that guy in the hood is young and Black he must have a gun, knife, crossbow, mace, powder strapped to his leg... something, anything to attack with, right?? Wrong!! Ever ask yourselves why stereotypes have stayed around the way they are? Look at who the stereotypes damage the most. And gossip is no better. You know nothing about it, but yet you feel its your duty to delve head first, into a topic that could potentially destroy someone! You fool! Assumptions are even worse! Do me a favour and work out the first three letters in the word... Sit on it please, don't think with it. Thanks
Oh, and don't ever ask stupid questions, it insults us both... What's that? Are there Black people in England? Piss off with your idiocy before u hurt yourself trying to remember how to breathe! Go and lick your elbow you goon! Oh, you don't care that you have minimal knowledge besides what is fed to you through the glossy cover of a magazine? Well, what more can i do than let out a big sigh, shake my head and pray you don't get trapped in thin air. Moron. Oh wait another question, good stuff, what is it now? You thought that Africa was a small country next to Spain? Good effort, give yourself a clap and then throw yourself off a bridge, thanks, much love.
There's a million ways to die, but then you read something else about some poor young soul ripped from here by another young one. Bullets fly around the streets, splitting bones and breaking homes, but so little is done to stop it. Knives are rife in the streets of strife, and rage is never ceasing. People want to throw the blame around like a hot potato. When will they realise that many hands can help build something so much faster; a solution to the disease plaguing many youth's street lives. One hand cannot mend a thousand broken pieces, no one is Superman. Prophecies from the youngsters hint that were heading towards doom, unless someone pulls their finger out and attacks the problem with savage blows that will cause it to surrender its vile grip on society. They have given us the warning that without help, what we know now, will turn into a future battlefield. The war isn't in Iraq, Afghanistan or any other land. It's here, on our streets, in our homes, running through the blood of hot headed youths so devoid of emotion they would rather take another life than take out the garbage.
All the leaves are brown, skies are grey. Go around for a walk on a winters' day, stop, look around you and breathe it in. All of it. Turn your head to the clouds that whirl above your head. Feel them weightless above you. Peer down the glitzy snow covered street, its elegance becomes you. Walk some more and plod your feet along the golden roads of sobriety. Feel the pinch of the wind against your newly cleansed skin. Write a letter to heaven and ask for guidance. Guide yourself. Teach yourself. Have a rest, have a cuppa, take some time out.
This is you... This is me... This is us, altogether, all as one.
Time ebbs and flows like the beating of a human heart, rhythmic, never straying from its eternal metronome. Look at time now. Take a minute, an hour, a week. Take some time... Fix It.
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