No Zone

Woke up this morning, found my friends had gone.
I sang along with the morning chorus. Argued with my feet for not keeping a straight line. Challenged them to walk straight.
Walk straight fuckers!
Then I realise that the birds know more than me, or at least they seem to. Their song is the air, is the trees, is every cell in me.
What are friends anyway? An attachment. A self selected shrine to your own ill-percieved sense of worth.
There is nothing. There is nothing.
We clamber around in a soup of murder, insanity and illusion.
We are not important.
And the need for importance is more telling than the belief. Strike it.
Like a match.
Until the black death comes.


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