we all know how this one ends

we all know how this one ends, i think, with the devil chuffed and in the pink. we all know my line is "got to go" based on everyone's anecdotal wink-wink say-so.

really no hope for me. not even at all. really nothing neat left to do. really no waiting all up for your call. really no need for you.

we've been through the hoops and the mo's and the loops. we've seen it and done it and dead. we've bought unwise salad from the pasta bar. we've inhaled un-day-old corn-bread.

we know how it's going, anyway. "it gets better" but it's not getting good. "hang in there" as if they're hanging their happiness on me. hang it up, more like, and go home.

go home. go away. walk out. today! hand me the schedule and get me a gun.

(don't send me emails. don't send me freemails. don't send me freemasonry or moldy ceiling tiles.)

i obsess about it. play chess about it. make hypocritical mess about it. i can't wait for it. pick date for it. fuck up-around and move states for it.

this thing i want so really bad, assigned to myself as if it's cake to be had; i love my own foregone conclusion. i'm ready for my own forever exclusion.

i'm ready to go, don't you know, don't you know? i'm ready to fly away, just let me go!

just let me. just see me. just accept me, and so. et cetera, in so forth, my consequence, woe.

it's not just a mood for my lowest of times. i feel like what's life left throws me lots of lime signs.

hit the lights. autos off. conch the spot. mics on talk.

it's gonna be fantastic, when it happens, which it will. it's gonna be a heart attack for open windowsill.

it's gonna be an accident - your choice to look away. it's gonna be so carefully thought. it's gonna be today.

well, that, i don't mean. that, i'm not so sure. that, i can't so clearly guarantee, so demure.

but this i must just promise you, from the depths of my despair: one day you're gonna look me over, and i just won't even be there!