The Dissolving Wall

Come brick it up boys
Come build that wall up ten feet tall
Brick it up, stick it up, crack the sky
Put it up motherfucker, don't be shy now!

It starts with a foundation
Creation-crafting concrete, feet framing flight inhibitors
This is for focus
Shoes cementing your place in society, pay attention
Cause you're no Billy Pilgrim
No, you're still stuck in time, love
We're gonna nail you down with nine-inch diagnoses
And force you to believe you have ADD before you can learn to A-D-D
So please S-U-B-T-R-A-C-T me from this equation
Because it's dividing us all

So here's your wall.
Construction underway, you stay in place, belief in your "disease" your new career
Fear tearing you away, shelter calling, walling faster to escape the world,
Every laugh you hear and assume is directed your way-ward glances and not-so-subtleties-ing
BUILD IT!
Build it past your line of sight and be sure to Van Gogh for your ears, hear no evil, see no evil, but speak it all behind your wall
And they'll call from up above, tell you that they can pharma-see where the problem started
You felt alone, dejected, different
In short - like every teenager ever
But they won't say that!
They'll say CLEAN SLATE!
MEDICATE!
But this prophetic Prozac will make the poetic prosaic
A mosaic of muddled meandering
signifying nothing.

But you're trapped in this wall...so as the pills pour in, it's either swallow or suffocate.

Get nice and comfortable. Wheel in a chair, set up a desk with a computer and stick up those picket-fence photographs; snapshots of everyone else's reality.

Emptying bottles just to fill them with your honest perceptions.
Like all bottles...answers are not to be found in the bottom of these.

TEAR IT DOWN!
Beat your fists until they crack on the concrete, let them know you've got more blood than balance!
Let them know you're NOT just another brick!
Form your rage into a jackhammer and shred this wall you've built until you're inhaling red dust
and when it settles, help everyone else out of theirs.

5 More Minutes

It’s hard to stand sometimes.
When doubt holds you down with such force that your shoulders cry out for the levity the weight of the world can provide.
See, it’s not that I’m afraid to fail. I’m just tired of doing it. And my outlook’s getting bleak.
I keep serving myself sentences that all end in Kurt Cobain exclamation points, or trail off into ellipses…
And I ask myself, when did I get so cynical?
But it’s easier to sleep 5 more minutes than it is to answer that question.
So I’m lying in bed just like Brian Wilson did.
Because I like the illusion that under the sheets, the world goes away.
Under the sheets, I’m safe.
The toy in the bottom of my own private box of cereal. Just begging for somebody to find me.
Filling out tax forms with my favourite blue crayon.
Waxing poetic through a waning spirit.
And I can hear it, the foghorn leading me to shore, but I’m steering starboard to avoid it because disembarking would mean stepping on solid ground that I’m just not ready to handle.
And this fog accepts me as a ghost within it. I could land. I could let myself be found.
But I want 5 more minutes.
There are times I just wanna go home.
I hated my childhood, but I really miss the perks.
Someone used to make sure I got out of bed. I never thanked them for it.
Maybe I’ll do that when I get up.
Maybe I’ll get to work on getting my life together, despite knowing I may just fail again.
Maybe I’ll show everyone that I’ve been worth it, that I haven’t been a waste of time. That when I apply myself, I can accomplish any single fucking thing that I want.
But then, maybe I’ll just count some sheep, go back to sleep, and hope, with my head in the sand, that everything will somehow work out.