Wake up to the air kissing new wounds Trying to catch myself in headlights Barreling death just a step to either side Hoping I’ve lost myself between Some layer of some dream. Wait for eyes to open that were never shut. Stop. Everything is just another excuse. Again. We’re Content with a gun in a madman’s hand. A slug squeezing through every thing. Leaving a trail for all to loose their step in, We all lose something. Some time. Each day is a game of roulette We’re throwing our bets in with patience while they follow their guts through the hole they bore through our temples Lobotomized by shock or grating anxiety. The hope that cooler heads might prevail when there’s still money to make, still things to conceal. Standing in a hall of mirrors of doppelgänger second selves nodding back to every twitch and whim. Shatter everything. We must rattle it to foundations. Hang the suits of the yes men A marker of an era dead and gone. Hang the suits of the yes men As lesson of an era dead and gone.