Blasé

Lie.

A lot.

It's not that I don't know better; it's easy and maybe I'm a creature of habit or lazy, not quite sure.

Yet.

I'm not a sociopath; I will avoid a dog while driving and don't want certain people to die right now.  I let Cancer, AIDS, HepC, and The United States Government do my bidding.

Maybe the fact that I don't believe in god has something to do with it.  Lord knows I wish I could accept Jesus or one of his monikers into my heart and just give it all to them whenever I falter, but I don't think I like myself enough to do that. 

Probably too smartass—dumbass?

I give up.

I gave up.

Hope is something talked about with lies coming from my tongue.

Then how do I explain the light?  The tunnel light?  The word processor light?

(Shoots off in pants like second day opiate withdrawal).

The Power. 

What Power?  That Power?  Hope so.

I have a MENSA accepted brain and a Hemmingway dilemma.

Pills.  Big Horse Pills, Little White Pills—No Blue Pill.  What the fuck Chuck—what the Fuck?

Darksome, I love it.  The more in your throat the better, in all realms—purge, sodomy, collapsed veins, tattoos—"Ever dance with the devil…"

I smell roses and prick myself at the same time.

Blood.

I told somebody I love the best I can that only Robin Williams with a beard can save me.

Stabbing Westward, only the Ocean is right to my left, get it?  If you do we should chat.

I told the truth like the kid from the eighties Mormon commercial.  "Mr. Robinson, Mr. Robinson."

"Even when I lie I tell the truth."  Fitting, yet blasé.