Dead Friends and Their Rattling Chains

Delirium has its insights to offer. I don't smoke. I burn. No one sees the difference anymore. It's just a disease to them either way. They kill themselves arguing with the symptoms. Ignoring the illness any way they can. It's so much easier to hate what's happened than to consider why it has.

No one wants to solve the problem. They just want someone or something to blame for it.

They don't want to love. That might hurt. They want to be loved. Or get laid. Whichever comes first.

Don't make me feel. Just make me feel good. In that shallow way that never matters after I've forgotten your name. I don't know you and I don't want to know you. I just want the symptoms of our mutual affliction.

Play the tortoise to my hare. I don't mind losing for the right reasons. Be the Christmas for my many ghosts. Drug the clock and teach me what I should want. Give it painkillers and break its hands. Give it Demerol to make it stop counting. Wake up Tiny Tim and tell him I still haven't learned how to live again.

And I'm sorry.