Fuck the messenger

it's funny you know
when you're young and everyone tells you,
oh,
things will get better;
they will, you know,
they always get better.

like, that's supposed to mean something anyway,
because all i've got is now and some of the near-future,
but no,
it's not that,
it's not this immature,
heady-fucking-reverie.

it's that when they say it,
it's with this
wince
like,
things will get better, yeah?
like,
they want to believe it more than they want you to,
like,
they want to believe that things got better;

but they never really,
did,
did they?

but it's funny you know,
'cause it's always when you're old
you find yourself telling the younger that shit really does get better,
like
you really believe it does,
but you kind of wince when you say it,
like,
you want to mean it but you start to wonder if you really do,
or if you ever could,
'cause in your mind your past rolled passed you,
and you're trying to differentiate whether the relative highs
have become much more a-plenty than the relative lows,
like
you could determine such a thing,
like,
you could really find any truth in anything at all.

it's just funny to me,
'cause,
when i was one of those
kids
you spoke down to
and winced at,
and wondered if what you spat out of your mouth at me
was really how things were going to turn out,
well,
i was just thinking about
distractions, no,
not that i was distracted or anything, but
you know, distractions
tv
movie
cd
media
media
media
like a fucking hypnotist on your brain,
like
everything is just always the same...

so it was funny, to me, 'cause
it just reminded me how distracted we all are
most days;
never really look down at our shoes, do we
never really
look down
and know,
just know that you are where you are,
just knowing, feeling, seeing, believing
the you is in you, like
you are inside, and your future above and below and somehow
everything is never going to be alright,

so we're distracted;
and somehow there are these moments when the
tv's unplugged, for once,
and all that's left is your own mind,
or somehow,
the smallest, tiniest little nag
that usually wouldn't bother you, you know,
you'd just rustle right on through,
but this time, no, this time
it can't be forgiven,
and the tears just kind of roll
out your eyes, you know
they just kind of roll
and you're half-wondering what it is you're crying over anyway,
but it never really stops, 'cause, well,
you know

that nothing's alright, and noth
ing ever really got better, did it?
it's just that the distractions got longer and more complex
and somehow, when you told the younger you
that simple, naked truth,
wincing with a revoke on your tongue
that you want to speak, but no
you can't do that
to this little one;
you know they know you're bullshitting, but somehow
the words roll off your tongue, 'cause
you want to believe them, 'cause
they seem somehow truer than
how they sounded to you when someone
spouted them in your face,
when you were younger.

it's just funny to me,
not really funny i guess, but
worse,
i guess, 'cause
i never believed you, and maybe
i read into your wince too deeply
but i think you knew it too, and i think you knew
i was right in some way.
i don't know.
maybe we were both right:

life does get easier, you know? 'cause time kind of speeds up
when you're running on auto-pilot, and
only crying hard after that paper cut
or that check that bounced, and
you know it's about something more but you cant
bring
yourself
to face it that it never really got easier to live
just easier to die to let the time fly
past like it's rather unimportant anyway
but really just because it's more unpleasant than it is
the opposite so you kept running and running
and hoping that you never wake up.

and i was right too, 'cause
i was thinking too hard, 'cause
i was focusing on those little nagging questions rather than
burying them all the time,
and that's why i'm up tonight,
and my lids lie so heavy on my eyes,
and
this laptop lies so heavy on my thighs,
and i know we're both right, but which
way i'm to go, no, that direction is just
no where in sight
and i'm wondering just if this life will ever get easier
and if it's not,
then fuck the messenger
and fuck the fact that nothing ever changes
and fuck that i know it will never-fucking-be alright
and fuck all you mother-fuckers who tell me it will be
because i want to believe you
but if i let that glimmer of hope in,
the next time i fall will be
ten
times
worse.

i don't know which is preferable, baby;
all i know is when i sleep tonight i'll know
tomorrow,
everything
will be
the same;

i don't know how things will be, baby;
i just know they'll never change.