Why must we talk of things we must know? Why must we know of we dare not talk?
Ignorance is bliss, knowledge is deadly, and curiosity killed the cat. So we ignore what makes us feel, know only the seedy underbelly of life, and curiosly chase after the meaning of life. This mind-boggling, sweltering mass of people all wearing our hearts on our sleeves and stabbing each other with the metallic knives stuck in our backs.
Flatlined but walking around.
Talking though the very thing that makes our heart sing is dead.
So, what do we do?
We do the only thing that will keep us sane. We bundle up our souls in long layers, cry our tears into our sleeves, put on gloves to keep out the coldness that forces us to stretch our hands out, hide the rips and burns on our heart from others, and glue a picture of heart onto paper and paste it on our sleeve. Making flippant bumper stickers of our deepest thoughts.
Selling loneliness one billboard at a time.
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