Ohh that was a spectacular goal!

I'm reading Between the monster and the saint,
by Richard Holloway.

Perhaps subconsciously I read this
but I have been saying lately
that the ultimate goal is death.
On the weekend,
I discovered that Freud also said it.
"The goal of all life is death".

And of course,
the dumb ones amongst us,
who aren't oblivious to it all,
know
having to live
to the end,
is harrowing.

What I meant to write,
was,
why do I self-destruct?
Why interact with people
who I know wont give me what I want,
and therefore make me artificially sad.

It's almost as though I'm rebelling
against my calm normal self,
right, it's time for a dip on the old
straight line graph of life.
Silence echos loudly.

It's like knocking on someone's door;

Knock knock.
Silence,
Silence who? WTF?

Oh it's me, I just wanted to..
It's just me, sorry I...

...need to explain myself.

Wait!
Open the fucking door,
and you can tell me you don't want
what I'm selling.

Otherwise, you know I'll come back later,
when things are going well
but I just want to feel like shite.

Hey it was a rhetorical Hello.

Fuck you,
and goodnight.