By Randall Rogers
Hope is a cigarette
It burns out fast . . .
Got caught up in the little-big questions
Like the �first cause� theory
The times when hope dips
And an inconsolable
Emptiness
Reaches
My core.
It is at these times
When sometimes for days on end
I lay endlessly on the couch
Thinking mostly of old age and death
And panicking
Sleep won�t take away the feeling
Gotta wake up again in the morning
And fight the good fight all over again
What happens when I can�t fight anymore?
Makes me want to give up already
Or take drugs and smoke more cigarettes
It�s like you got two choices
You either kill yourself
Or nature kills you
And either way
It�s kinda spooky.
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