It's just one more glass and then I'll jump
in this *****-filled ocean
no worries, I've got my parachute ready
I'll land safely and stay on top for a while
until I had more and more and more
because I want to see what's at the bottom and forget all about the surface
then I lose my grasp, float away and
see the depths of my despair.

You're sad and drunk, too, I know
waiting for someone to come lift you up
telling a blank sheet of paper what he'll look and feel and act like
and when you find him, you leave those times behind you
Will you think about what marriage and Stockholm Syndrome have in common
when you stand at the altar and tell him you love him?
No, I don't think you'll do
you chose this life and it didn't choose you.

Look, I know you'd get ******
because you're better at everything the naked eye can see
that's why they listen to you, but not to me
you're a great fake and I'm a bad original
what can I let you see? More darkness than one could take
a ray of light? I've been waiting since birth, might as well forget about that
Nobody ever said a destroyed building looked beautiful
I've been bombed, hit and hurt, taken apart, forgotten and rotten.

When I write about you, there should be envy
your acclaim, your adulation, the money you earned
the work you put in, it was well worth it
you touched people, reached down to their souls, made them relate
that's your goal, that's why you write, drink and stay up late.
How laudable to write with a goal in mind,
you hear, I think it's great you can give them what they want
It will certainly get you very far in life.

You obsess about every line, write one-sentenced-poems that take hours
because the line gets better, you say
and I ask you: But does it get truer?
You say: You want my advice or not? Your lines sound like
you thought of them and then just typed them in
but what you didn't recognize was
they make no sense at all.
I said: But maybe that's the point.