Walking blind down a city street
Sure does beat the eternal chaos of the galaxies meeting
One another around us;
Or maybe it’s just a mirror, and it’s just our fear of significance
Which causes us to dumb ourselves with meteor showers
Of electronic beats and scratching turntables ad infinitum.
I wonder what it’s like to be real, to be what you were made to be
Just for one day…probably like waking up from a nightmare and realizing
It was just a dream, or being diagnosed with cancer on April 1st:
Both terrifying and exhilarating in one fell moment.
But to be real is to know pain, and I can’t handle that
So I’ll put my Oakley’s on and get lost in the whirr of engines and the honking of horns:
Maybe I’ll get lucky and get hit.
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