For my friend.
Mon, 27 Nov 2006 at 01:38am
untitled
I hate it when you come up to me, and tell me in your oh-so poetic fancities, about, how awful your life has been. You put it in a song for me
"Lying with my best friends
on the cold, cold ground.
One is right beside me
and the others six feet down."
Yes she's down, down, down. Down beneath the dirt. And you say to me, "It's deeper than you could ever believe."
But I've got a pretty good imagination.
And you say, "It's so hard to see someone you love, just go away and not be there."
Well I think it's hard to see someone STILL ALIVE forget to care.
I told you this on her grave, and you wept. So before you go make love to a pitiful memory, remember one thing about me:
I'm not dead.
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I think one would die and then another and another until they would all be dead except the fittest of the fittest with minds of steel and stone.
Sold may forget, evolutionarily speaking fittest has to do with virility. Not primarily to do with intellectual or physical fitness.
Either way, good piece. I can understand how the narrator would find that frustrating.