I've a grenade with our names scratched in the side

This taste in my mouth is starting to get to me.
It's bitter and it never changes.
Even if I eat sugar and honey and babies, and everything else I used to call _____.
Believe me, I've tried.

Most of the time I tell myself, "This is how life goes - suck it up and carry on with tomorrow and the next." I suppose for some people that actually works. But then again, those are the types of people who usually reach for the bottle of Bailey's every morning just to make it through the first two hours of work.

The truth is, nobody knows jack shit. Everyone expects us all to mean everything we say; to give up our lives and freedom for the things we care about because that's noble and honourable and the way it oughta be. But when the chips are thrown down the first instinct is self preservation.

That is, unless you'd actually die for a cause or a person.


I used to know a girl I felt that way about, and she quit on ideals a long time ago.
I'd say it was just before I personally quit on the same things. Funny coincidence...

Maybe that was the day my passion left me, or maybe it's just the day I quote when I feel like I need some pity. To be entirely honest, I don't even remember the day or month of that particular event (but I sure remember the year).

And since that day I've never been the same.
It left me alone in the crowd, and scrambling for a consequence that was tossed to the wind long before I even got close to grasping it. Maybe I was too young and short to reach for it, or maybe it was always on a string that was dangled just beyond my reach for the amusement of the bourgeoisie.

They always did like to bet on the underdog, just for shits and giggles.

Too bad I lost.