You only feel bad if you can feel

Each year

more people die from suicide

than from all the world’s armed conflicts

 

An issue America will undoubtedly solve

with increased military spending

while also continuing the harvest of occupied Afghanistan’s poppy supply

(they produce 90% of the world’s opium)

which will then be made into overpriced prescription pain killers

whose exorbitant costs will be subsidized

using the public’s own money

in the form of a private health insurance subscription discount

as negotiated by the host of The Celebrity Apprentice

& not the host of The Celebrity Apprentice who actually has governing experience,

 

the other one.

 

But yeah, the shocking part is that people are killing themselves.

One clock, twice daily, every twelve hours

My doctor once said of depression,

“There is no wound greater
than the one unseen;
who festers within
cutting without bleeding
weighing you down
robbing the appetite

& the less apparent our reasons for suffering
the smaller and colder this insidious cage becomes
its vicious whisper
insatiably demanding an unknown,
eating instead the heart & very will
to prosper
from your insides out.”

He died of literally, the biggest tapeworm you’ve ever seen,
which might account for some of that stuff,
but at the time it seemed really deep and whatever…

Between sadness fries

When my dog gets to heaven, I hope God has a beard. I hope he’s an old white guy with a beard because my dog historically did not like the facially haired. They would get into a thing, and then Patches would go to hell where we could hang out in damnation forever, because I’m a terrible person who wants his dog to bite God for making shitty rules about lifespans, so obviously I’m going to hell. But really if you have your dog in hell then how bad could it be?

See how I just zinged God and his stupid rules?

Now give my fucking dog back, You cunt.

Sorry God, I didn’t mean that.
It’s just that I’m really hurting now and
LOOK OVER THERE.

RUN PATCHES! COME BACK TO ME!

NO, DONT WORRY ABOUT GOD
HES OLD AND FORGIVING. YOU GOT THIS.

Yeah, I know you’re forgiving too, Patches.
You’re the best.

I love you.
I love you so much.

To cry is to poo, but from your face

In truth, there are really four inescapables in life.
Death & taxes we know,
But tend to forget or deny
Poops & weeping.

With both activities
There is an implicit unpleasantness,
A social faux pas

But you must do it
Everyone does it
& when you are backed up
Excretion feels fantastic,
During & right after

Wiping away tears & dingle-berries
& being done with both

Sometimes at the same time…

Free from that weight of poop and tears

A new You emerges

Flinging open the door
To that Outside Lands Port-o-potty
The sunset hits you
You smell fresh garlic fries
& dew wrapped beer cans

Walking away lighter,
Musing a new self
You think, confident & free:

You know what?

I am Kanye West.
I am a genius.
I’m basically mother-fucking Mickey Mouse.

AIGHT BITCHES
GET ME MY PHAROH MASK.

YEAH I KNOW IT COVERS MY FACE.

NO I DONT GIVE A FUCK.
DOES MICKEY MOUSE GIVE A FUCK?

IT’S NOT LIKE I’M OPENLY WEEPING IN THIS MASK OR ANYTHING.

Hang on, I got an idea
WRITE THIS DOWN

It’s like Disney World
But with ALL me
& Splash Mountain
Ends with Kim’s ass.

Okay, queue up “All of the Lights.”
Here we go.