FEAR.
Do I know fear? Of course. I know it so well I fucking hate it. It disgusts me…maybe it’s that fearful part of myself that disgusts me.
I know what this world is capable of. I know that my mind plays tricks on me. Fear somehow manifests through a mixture of these two, though maybe I’m missing an ingredient.
I’m fearful they laugh.
I’m fearful they don’t.
I’m fearful of a stupid muthafucka at the wrong time.
Cause I’m fearful of my reaction. Will I rise to the occasion? Will I play it cool? Will I snap & become a god damn lunatic?
I’m fearful of my rage.
When my rage is fully aflame, the walls of fear come tumbling down. I picture bloody murder. I picture spiraling out of control, like a tornado from a quiet summer day…all destruction, damn the path, damn myself.
Despite what I’ve come to realize, that fear lives on, right in the pit of my stomach. I wish I could dig it out.
It’s a good thing I can’t, cause then I’d really be a frothing-at-the-mouth god damn lunatic.
Fuck it.
There’s a side to me that says, “fuck it,” be a wild man.
Don’t just stand in front of the train of fear…run through it.
Brand new job at a new office, I asked for a window seat.
Night on the town & I can’t dance, I danced like a retard anyway.
Not sure if I should’ve went for the kiss, fuck it, only way to find magic.
Economy is shit & I have no idea how to raise kids, fuck it, we’re making babies & we’ll catch ourselves along the way.
Now every “fuck it” wasn’t a smashing success. I’ve crashed & burned, yet I’m still here. That fear is still there.
Sometimes you just gotta say “fuck it” & walk right into the fire.