236. Cowards

I checked them, barbed wire fences, out

now, let me sit still
and not make a sound

they are out there
prowling outside my bubble
trying to tell me
that my bubble doesn't exist;
and that, even if it does, it won't for long

I just want to sit pretty
and keep to my pop music,
pop corn
and honey popsicles

but they -
they want to show me reality

I don't let sunlight peek in through my windows
I rather
bask in the hues of my high-resolution screens

lest the world get too real
the world where lives are but public comedies
the world where lives are but private tragedies

but they -
they want to show me reality

d'uh, like I care!
who cares about dead people anyway
or the ones, who will be dead soon enough?

so, I weave barbed-wire conversations
and wrap them around my bubble

they will try to get in for a while
and when they hurt real bad, they will go away.

let me go check on them, barbed-wire fences, again

and if that is what it takes,
I will snarl
I will sneer
I will scream
but I will put them back
my barbed-wire fences around my bubble

because I don't want anyone telling me
that my bubble doesn't exist
and that, even if it does, it won't for long

because I am a coward
but then, aren't we all?

let's just publish our apologies
on our epitaphs