SWIMMING WITH DISASTER
I can't do this anymore, grieving in front of the TV set,
swimming with disaster, rehearsing death,
holding the night in my own breath
and feeling the safety net fall away.
It's like the tarot card, eight swords stuck in the ground,
the seeker blindfolded and tied to a post,
I just can't.
The choice between black or white,
life or death, a leap of faith,
it makes no sense to fall through the blackness
every time the world gets restless and structures fail.
I want to be out of this body,
sending my eye in search of the universe,
bathing in warm light, singing accidental music.
Turn off the constant catharsis,
no more bobbing at eye level with muck and debris.
I have my own crisis to heal, stuck in electronic vision,
living each imaginary death at the whim of the world.
Good bye, swimmers, I'm leaving the party.
Turn off your screams and death rattles,
no more grabbing pieces that float.
I can rescue myself by putting out the eye of sadistic inquiry.
Band together if you will, sort out your own seriousness,
but count me out, real life is too short.
If I should die in a headline
allow me the privacy of my own horror.
Be decent with my body bag, it's the last thing I'll ever need.
Please don't paw through my belongings,
just make light of my floating shoes.
If I should die blindly as a result of my choices in life,
respect my wishes, my miracle,
my once in a million demise.
ŠJimmy Warner Design, 2011
