It's only after the lights go out and no one's around when the true sense of self hits like baby grand falling three stories into your brand new mercedes. While the world sleeps, the muscles will not. The muscles, including the heart and brain, will not calm themselves. They understand the physical strain of of feeling used, dumped in an alley, and picked through by bums, as the police watch each huddled warm around the corner at Pashke's 24 hour Quik-E-Mart.
It's not whining, it's the internet; and I am exhausted beyond sleep. This is where I break the rules, where I say I, I say I way too much, because I...well I can't remember.
Remember the audience will never love you, and they only want you to be there when it suits them. When it pleases them. They will walk out when it suits them. They will tell you good show when it suits. Them. No matter your trade, break the rules, only bend for those of true heart, and keep your heart inside your head. What we do might matter, but only if it does to ourselves. The sermon on the ladder, the boss fires, and the prostitutes await beside vampires, werewolves, and police officers. The streetlights are down. Open your eyes and see your way through. They can't hurt you unless you let them. Stay warm. Listen.
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