So first I was a bomb in a briefcase;na mess of smoke and fear.nI couldn't hide it from me let alone anyone in here.nnI saw myself in the mirrornfor the first time in a while.nI was rudely interrupted by a guy with a great big smile.nnI said, thanks a lot for nothing, asshole.nIs this some kind of joke?nHe said, I don't hear anyone laughing over nthe sound of you as you choke.nBut don't let it go to your head.nThere's room enough in here for us both.nnSo then I was a priest at a pulpitnand the only people in the navenwhere the only people that my message would never save.nnSo Jesus, if you're really coming,nreally you should get here soon.nThe price of gasoline's been going through the roof.nnSo should we mourn like we believe in somethingnor live like someone died?nDo good things happen to terrible people?nIs there even such a thing? I still can't decide.nI open the paper nand let it make up my mind.nnI want to be a cause with no martyr.nI want to be a fight I can't win.nLet's give it up to the ghost that haunts me once again.nnBecause even though it's falling apart, I still want itnand even though it's all I know,nit seems to me, if you never quit writing,nyou never have to read what you wrote.nAnd how is that different from making it up as you go?nnAnd how is that different from walking on the side of the road?nnAnd how is that different from everything that I know?n