Silver Linings and Repetition

Tattooed on a silver line that no longer exists to you anymore. I picture in my over worked, over imaginative, sometimes slightly cynical mind an American flag hanging in spite of it all mixed with pride and pure vengence so deep that it cuts as easy as razor blades. I imagine you on a green lush field overgrown with tall grass and weeds, riding a horse with your rifle raised, never even caring or giving a second thought about age or time. Your fit uniform is stained an off shade of blue, or is it gray? It all looks alike after a while. Like a cloudy day with a gray sky, slight dusky blue peeking through. The whole word turns the same color for once through the rearview mirror. It may all look differently in hindsight. A revolution. Will it ever come raining down like you have expected for so long? Or will we all go our own way? There is in fact so many different sides to the dice and pieces to the inside of the Kaleidoscope. Is there any gray or is it simple black and white?
You, how can you see yourself so clearly in the mirror when your vision is so blinded by double standards and favortisim? If I disagree with you, you assume that I suspect that you just may be wrong. Well, maybe you are. Maybe I am. Maybe one day we'll find out why this whole world is so pissed off at one another. Your silence is way too loud though and rings in my ears. I fidget uncomfortably in my chair listening to you slam things around taking your aggression out on everything but who you are really angry at. Do I comprimise myself? What do I do? Truce? Maybe not. Not unless I want to pretend to care about what I don't. Not unless I want to to sit back with my hands tied and agree about how I am everything but right.
And you, finally we're down to you. I have cared about you for so long. And for what? So that you can pretend to listen and then do the same stupid things in repetition? If only. If only I could take back everything I had ever said to you. Every word. You never even heard me screaming in the corner of the room. Everything turns dark. I need the lights on. I need that from you. But it doesn't matter. You are too busy washing the pills down your throat to numb yourself because you can't deal with the kind of things the rest of us have to face. The demons. The roads. The dreams. Reality. Your furturistic hopes are down the sink. You don't care and you don't listen. So...I don't care and I won't listen. Not anymore. But easier said. Because I do care. But not about your decisions or rants anymore. Not about that. It's never been about that. And not even because I want to. But only because I'm used to it.