Sometimes I think I'm withering, caving from stress. Lay me to rest where I can daydream make-believe myths. I'm waiting on something to change, please. Maybe, I guess. At work I'm angry biting my tongue, strangling my breath. A slave to reps. Waiting on a day to go fist to face and make them break their fucking neck. I'm angry because each check's just enough to save me from debt. It's my lucky day, baby you bet, because guess what? I got a delay on the rent. Waiting on more paper to print while shopping for bargain clothes. Some days are harder than most. Some days I think, why bother? I smoke to break the monotony, to cope. Until smoking becomes montonous. I'm broke. Locked in a bottomless hole that's waiting to swallow me whole. It'd be comical if the consequences weren't so ominous. A joke. Consciousness erodes when promises are spoke. The populace takes hold. They got me with hope. Documents unfold from amiable men promising new ways to save us again. I've got buckets of change, still nothing makes any sense. I took that to the bank, and they gave me a pen.
I've got no patience, shit, been drinking again. Vodka, oof, that pain going in. Swallow the craving with a cringe. Love it. Each day on a binge. Fuck, I'm crazy as shit. Lol at life. Lol at dreams. Lol at my mind taking control over me. Are we ever in control? Or was that a lie we've been told to believe? We just follow the zeitgeist in our prose when we speak. Most don't change. They don't know they're asleep. Criticize those who do to try and expose them as weak. Critics are everywhere. They want you prone on your knees to tell you what you're supposed to be. Lol at egos. Like they know how you feel. Change what you wrote. "Wow that's so ill!" I change every moment because I haven't found what appeals. I wrote poems. I've touted my skill. Sometimes it was nothing but randomness. I was clouded with pills, but still got props as a drug addict with no talent. Forreal. This is the realest thing I've ever wrote, and it'll still amount to nil.
Go to the mountains to chill. I see the strangeness of the world. It pains me to see it. God, war, poverty, I try to create it's meaning. Hoping if I can define it, I can make me believe it. Examine and dissect it. Write about it. Explain it in thesis. Tame it and seize it 'til the strangeness seizes. Spoiler alert! It doesn't work. It increases the pain. No appeasement. I'm estranged from friends and family because they can't handle me. I've had a hand in their agony. I turn my back on 'em. It's the only way to save them from tragedy. Give them a chance to live happily. See what they can be without me damning 'em callously. I throw my hands up, stand up, and dance off the balcony.
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Originally Posted by Elvis Freshley
