We kill time,

because we're afriad of it

and what we fear

we destroy unprovoked.

 

A society of men and women

intimidated by empty hours

afraid to face the minutes without

stuffing them full of mindless entertainment.

 

A never-ending cycle of mediocraty

encompasses Can/American culture

to the point every pleasure becomes

guilty.

 

That's a fitting label in a society of sinners,

who only commit the lamest and most

selfish

of sins,

and never the exciting ones to confess or live.

 

Or maybe we are exciting,

with sky-rocketing adultery and greed

living to fuck and spend

and people say Freud is 

no longer in vogue,

but that's because he is feared

as truth often is.

 

There is something like the Confessions 

coming

but I never found God

and I'm not remorseful.

 

I was vengeful,

I hated

I cheated

I harmed my fellow man

I destroyed whole individuals

and I certain lied,

but I'm no different morally than the

vast ocean of human emptiness we call a race,

I'm just a sliver more exciting than most,

but mountains less boring than others.

 

Don't be afraid of that boredom,

embrace it,

Time is leaking out of our pores

a few skin cells fall off with every touch

– the great sand people,

a mock Terracotta Army –

but here I still stand

and you do too,

or you could lay with me and

forget about the boredom for awhile.

 

Life is used up all the same,

and I'm stabbing at my boredom lately

like a damned peon,

when I should be holding it like a lover.