Into The Flood Again
I am sad.
I am sad because I am utterly obsessed.
I am sad because it will never be
An internet quiz once called me
clinically depressed
But I think I'm sad because the person I hate the most
also, coincidentally, is me.
I'm sad
because all I can ever think about is scoring
I once used to laugh, because High School is a joke; but these day's it's just too
FUCKING!
boring
And as I'm blinded by my faults, I'm force fed
Tegretol with a side of Amphetamine salts
And although perhaps I can see once more,
I can't help but feel like I'm under forty feet of water
Looking back up at the glistening surface
as I rest against the ocean floor
I wake each morning to a brand new day
Yet somehow it's all the same, bland,
smothered under layer after layer of
omnipresent gray.
They Say I Ruined Spring Formal
I was stumbling, blinded by the shame of my own monstrosity
Meandering like the river Styx
I hurled myself into the tangled mass of throbbing limbs
And I groped for an easy fix
I singled out a sullen wench
and molded against her swaying hips
And as the music's bombardment was briefly paused
we joined against our lips
Her gaping jaws soon eclipsed the entirety of my face,
And I collapsed in horror, a broken soul, reverting
to my rightful place.
I could tell by there stares that they hungered for my failure
Like angst ridden jackals, deserted and unfed
So I destroyed the stereo, flicked on the lights
And laughed to their gawking faces and said:
I tire, You fuckers, Of your punitive ways!
And I tire of your almighty plan!
I choose life! I choose love! I choose sex-positive abstinence!
I choose freedom, I choose being a man!
Rays
She's gone.
Only tears and our love remain, tears and love
And her soul that is alleged to roam above
But I'm still right here, pen in one hand,
The other clutching a cheap beer
I'm still right here, The reason why is
Not currently clear...
I see her in a Facebook memorial page
And yet again in the rays of sun
I hear her laughter out of sight
As it echoes up the barrel of a loaded gun.
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