I Don't Do My Job To Catch

It Revealed A Cruelty That Really Made One Wonder If The Universe Was Such A Good Idea After All.

It's That Moon Again, Slung So Fat And Low In The Tropical Night, Calling Out Across A Curdled Sky And Into The Quivering Ears Of That Dear Old Voice In The Shadows, The Dark Passenger, Nestled Snug In The Backseat Of The Dodge K-car Of Dexter's Hypothetical Soul. That Rascal Moon, That Loudmouthed Leering Lucifer, Calling Down Across The Empty Sky To The Dark Hearts Of The Night Monsters Below, Calling Them Away To Their Joyful Playgrounds.

And Once Again I Found Myself Wondering, As I Drifted Off To Stunned And Unbelieving Sleep:how Do These Terrible Things Always Happen To Me?

Nothing Else Loves Me, Or Ever Will. Not Even - Especially - Me. I Know What I Am And That Is Not A Thing To Love.

I Think People Understand Things Different When They Get Older. It’s Not A Question Of Getting Soft, Or Seeing Things In The Gray Areas Instead Of Black And White. I Really Believe I’m Just Understanding Things Different. Better.