The World Keeps On Spinning

You could threaten suicide,
and the universe would keep on turning,
and turning, and turning.
You could give gold to a silver tree,
and it would turn green,
its leaves shifting to fuchsia pink,
and the universe would throw a brick,
your head turning to stone.
And you'd keep on spinning,
and spinning, and spinning.

You could say the right things
to the wrong people,
changing their lives as they
steal the remnants of your soul.
Your house goes up in flames,
and you flee, all alone.

You could cry for hours
a river with no return
and the universe would keep on spinning,
and spinning, and spinning.

You could rename the stars,
say they were meant to shine for you,
weaving a story of how luck, time, and kindness
could bring you serenity.
But then you’d walk out to buy groceries
and get hit by a drunk driver.
You end up in the hospital,
a stone building up
inside your heart of gold
the gold you've given for free,
no tax included.
And you’d bleed out,
your brain a cup of raspberry tea leaves,
filled only with a rosy scent and marshmallows.

And the universe would keep on spinning,
and spinning, and spinning,
while thieves, rats, and lizards
climb a mountain by flying.
And you start to wonder if hell is above us.
But no matter what,
the world keeps on spinning,
and turning, and vomiting,
and crawling, and crawling,
never turning back.