When I laughed when I was young,
Was my favourite time of all,
It was genuine,
It was real.
Now I laugh with no intent,
It's just a reflex brought on,
By a lowsy joke or a sick situation.
Now the only thing that is genuine,
Is the nothing I feel,
The nothing I believe,
The nothing that comforts me.
I stand at the bar with my friends,
Drinking and laughing,
And I look in their eyes,
And I see them all screaming,
They want out of the situation,
The one they lock up inside,
Hidden.
We join together only to try to forget,
What makes us misserable,
What makes us feel nothing when we laugh,
We want oblivion,
But at what cost?
What are we willing to give up?
We'd forget the good times,
Of when we were children,
And when we laughed,
And it was genuine.
When we smiled,
When we felt good.
Would we be willing to give that up,
Just to start over again,
And try to make sense of it all?
Would you?
I wouldn't.
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