Ignorant Bliss

We are the furnaces shushed, quieted, and etherized in the summer 
The boxes and boxes of childhood toys toted away to the attic with a lock
They tell us "Shh Shh! Don't remind us of the cold, don't remind us of our past."
We are the sufferers when everyone else chooses the ignorance for bliss
Everyone doesn't want to hear the cold hard truth 
Like a slimy stone that if you'd swallow would sink you to the bottom of a river 
So they tell everyone we don't exist, the cold hard truth doesn't exist 
So don't worry, go on drinking until the bottle drinks more of you
Until you are so numb, that the ache of numbness hurts more than the pain you were trying to numb to begin with
Until you are gurgling on your own vomit, your hair cleaned by only your drool 
Until you fall asleep to the lullaby of a humming phone trying to tell you, 
That you still have a wife and kids waiting at home 
Go on complaining and whining until they build enough robots to do all of your work and chores for you 
And you can sit in a chair and rot all day, your eyeballs sizzling and liquidating in their sockets from the glare of the tv
Until your muscles are so weakened you cannot lift a finger and your bones are fossilized into the microfibers of the fabric 
That even the coroner cannot remove, well when he gets out of his chair
Go on, they say, painting layers on your face and calling it beauty 
Until these layers they become a part of you, the mask unremovable 
Until you are wailing and howling as you dig your fingers under its corners trying to rip it off but you can't because it is now you
Until your mother has to take a kitchen knife to it to pry it off because with it on she can't tell if it's  you. 
Go on, they say, go on and do it all because ignorance is bliss
But you don't even know what the word ignorance is or what bliss is because they have been saying go on 
And you go on alright letting your brain soften to a puffy mass sloshing around in your head
Thick and unsalvageable like it is molasses dripping out of your nose and pouring out of your ears, flooding out of your eyes 
Until you are choking on what is left of your intelligence, what is left of your mind, and your voice
Until we, the cold hard truth, are the only voices left 
But we are the furnaces switched off while you hang a backdrop of summer on stage when it is truly freezing outside
But we are the boxes and boxes of childhood toys locked in the attic, the reminder that you have to grow up, while they tell everyone you don't have to, grow, up
So go on, you fools 
Go on with your ignorance is bliss. 

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