shorteyes

Sometimes I hear voices in my head...
I hear you all feeding on your fixes. I close my eyes and focus, letting each sound reach recognizable, with waves they sail in and with hope they're washed away. I learn lifes intimate details through fictional characters, I'm fed fictional details through historical parody's. They're called news-anchors because they keep us from drifting off into clarity. I can hear hungry children and they're SCREAMING my name, while they're sponsors ride my sympathy all the way to the bank. We're all enchanted by the dim glow of marketable lies and advertised dreams, so we sit here and fight to hold open our eyelids. But all I can hear are game show hosts giving out constalation prizes. I can hear the unanswered questions in second and third grade becoming the unquestioned truth for parents to recite, all backed by edited for television imperical evidence. With each and every remote controlled life decision I can hear our emotional and intellectual decadence. I can hear my mom talking with my teacher as she sits me down in front of the screen, I guess she figured that for the sake of our phone bill I needed some social instruction. Now I hear schoolboard discussions about closing thier books so that the push of a button will rid there classrooms of any disruption. I turn this box off in an act of defiance, now all I can hear is the sound of silence. Something so frightening that my hands begin to tremble and, m-my pulse begins to race each second of despare. Now that I can hear it beating I realize that my heart must still be there. And as long as it pumps blood through my viens I'll need something to help handle lifes unwanted pain, So I go back to the glow of that novicane screen, knowing that the only way to stop it more permanently is to cut the chord, and I want to cut the chord but I can't find it... until I look down and see that it was there all the time hidding under my sleeve. A comfortable silence to good to believe. I stare at my wrist and then back at the screen, I see a set of steak knives satisfaction guarenteed. And how ironic it is that the voices who speak in this noise pollution are the very same ones that will sell it's sollution.

-DIE...