There's a number you can call
to listen in on all the sounds of unresolved love.
The sighs and gasps.
The beating of pulses in throbbing song.
The voices of the unwanted and desperate
crying out in passion
for just one touch.

There are radio waves reserved for the place where longing lingers -
for voices mangled by mad grips and furious fingers.
A flurry of sound that culminates into one palpitating heart.
A graveyard for romance that was doomed at the start.

It swells up inside your telephone.
A coagulation of feeling hopeless and alone.
Crawling ever toward an unobtainable ******
that will never come.

There's a number you can call,
but if I were you, I wouldn't dial it.
There's an insanity involved.
The effect of that collective sigh;
some people die for it.

We're all together,
yet still far apart.
With no end in sight,
we've come a long way from the start.
Tugging on the tenuous strings of our heart
just to find out which are strongest.

I'm fond of every bond we've made.

Hearts are such fragile things;
how easily they break.
Please keep my pieces somewhere safe,
and I'll keep yours held tightly in hand.

I don't care how much they might bleed,
because you'll always understand.
Everything I could ever want and need.
Everything, all the time.
Everything at the speed of light.

I'll keep the pieces close to my heart.
I love you infinitely more now than I did from the start.
With no end in sight;
we're all together tonight.

Regardless of where life may take us,
we'll always be stars.
Reflecting each others' light -
no matter how far.

If I told you that you're perfect,
would you believe it's true?
No, of course not. I mean, maybe so,
but it wouldn't be enough for you.
Just one man's opinion;
you need global recognition
to prove that you have value.

It makes me kind of sad,
but I've never had ambition of that sort,
so if you'd like, I could help you.
We could make it work.

With your style, and grace,
(and those big brown eyes, and that beautiful face)
along with my words,
(your silk ribbon of a voice)
and my keyboard;
I swear to God we could make it work.

A partnership to stack the cards:
Aimless Asteroid and Shooting Star.
You'll always burn brighter, but I don't care.
I swear,
together we could go far.

Two cents anyone? I've got two cents here for sale.
I'll sell you two cents for one cent,
now have we got a deal?

If that's not enough, then you can have them for free.
They've just been burning a hole in my pocket, no but really.

Still you're not interested? Well you drive a hard bargain.
I'll pay you to take them, now that's what I'm offerin'.

Two bucks and two cents, that makes $2.02.
Just listen to me for a second,
hey now just won't you?

We sell condoms where I work,
****** arousal supplements,
and lotions.
And there's this twenty-year-old girl there
who controls all my emotions.

One look into her eyes;
two words that she says,
and suddenly I'm dying
right there inside my head.

Bury me six feet under.
This is more than I can stand.
I'm falling toward some dark abyss.
Pull me out of this quicksand.

(Maybe I should quit, or see a psychiatrist.)

I used to follow logic.
I used to be a reasonable man.
Now some twenty-year-old girl
holds my fate within her hands.

(She could **** me with the press of a button,
but she doesn't understand.)

Suicide crosses my mind too often.
Why should I die for this?
It's never bothered me before now.
I've never coveted a kiss.

I'm being ridiculous.
I just want it to be done.
I hate these ******* feelings.
I don't want to long for anyone.

(When the brain fights with the heart, it can tear a soul apart.)

There's this twenty-year-old girl at my job
who has recently found her sexuality,
and for reasons I can't fathom,
it will surely be the death of me.

You take life too seriously,
and it's really quite a shame,
because life's too serious when taken that way -
it's better to play it like a game.

You should get a tattoo.
Something whimsical and fun,
like the Keibler elf riding a dolphinicorn -
Man that would be so awesome!

You take yourself too seriously,
and I'm pretty sure you do it on porpoise.
Listen: just because you got a dumb tattoo
doesn't mean you're worthless.

Here it is; my body of work
Lately I've been showing off the other kind
Not that I'm complaining though
It has been such a long time

So what is going on inside my head?
Feeling fear, and doubt, and nervous
Pretty soon I'll start confusing you
Accidentally on purpose

With all this space around me
How can I feel like I need more?
"You should know that I'm nothing but a lousy,
Selfish, drunken man-*****."

These and other ways to leave your lover
Before the loving even starts
Paul Simon never wrote this tune
I've got that **** on lock

Burning bridges while they're being built
Such an unsubtle self-saboteur
Way to go there hot shot
What the hell did you do that for

Sometimes I tap my cigarette in time to the syllables of the numbers nine through twelve.
Sometimes I wonder if anyone knows what the hell I'm talking about.
So I walk around outside to try to understand my mind
just to get lost on a journey and leave it all behind.
If you could join me, I'd show you all of the lights.
The ones with deep meaning that make everything all right.
But it's times like these that I'd rather be by myself:
Nine, Ten, E-lev-en, Twelve.

As a kid I always lived inside of my head.
Backyard battles with demons were always so vivid.
One time I stuck a bunch of duck feathers into the back of my shirt.
I ran around the pool jumping -
just trying to leave Earth.

As I grew up, I maintained my thirst for adventure.
Fell in love with facing fears -
succumbed to a lust for danger.
Always trying to disprove my doubts.
Nine, Ten, E-lev-en, Twelve.

Fell into doing drugs and developed a taste.
Having fun with a new crowd.
Learned to deal with disgrace,
but sometimes I'd catch my reflection in a mirror
and couldn't recognize my own face.

But all the while coming closer to achieving my dreams.
Knowing one day I'd fly away on my wings.
Came to find out the true nature of the place that I dwell.
An angel can't fly when he's trapped down in hell.

Nine, Ten, E-lev-en, Twelve.

You're super sweet.
Like a fruit that's nearly rotten;
like an apple that's overripe.

Like how if you leave apple cider in the darkest corner of your room,
it will become alcoholic in time.

I wouldn't be too sure about drinking from it though -
it could do a number on your insides.

My favorite number is forty-two;
you know,
because it's the meaning of life?

Is that what the black-magic-matador is supposed to say as he pulls what's left of his cape out of the dryer?

Dyed blood red and riddled with holes,
but when you mess with a bull,
you get the horns.

"Alakazam," and it's out of my hands.
Stained white gloves hiding ***** tricks;
I'm washing them of you.

3, 2, 1 . . . now watch this:
I'm going to make every secret wish,
every half-expressed sentiment of longing,
every rabbit, dove, and remnant of love
disappear!

There's a part of me that has a hard time believing that the things I've done actually ever happened.

But every now and then,
my past actions come crumbling down on my head like a ton of bricks.

I don't have anyone to blame but myself for these seemingly unwarranted guilt trips.

Self-induced punishment.

Don't be surprised when I end up hating myself for it.

Can one be traumatized by another person's trauma?
(Isn't that kind of how it works?)
Is there a known cure for an addiction to drama?
Can an entire family tree suffer from PTSD?
What about a whole country?

Jungle boots work suprisingly well at keeping feet dry in snow,
but they sure as hell don't keep them warm.

It's hard to be the 'only' one.
It's no wonder it rhymes with lonely.
Sometimes I feel like I'm sinking
in the middle of a school of fish.
To be singled out by the sharks.
A ****** trail of mist makes me an easy target.
I'm having a hard time with this.
Throw me a life saver or something.

I have trouble with existing,
as if I lack some proper requisite for insisting to persist.
I feel like just a composite of so many billion molecules.

I have a hard time defining truth.
So many contradictory influences tell me what to do.
I feel I'm better off sleeping straight through every single birthday.

I have never felt just simply okay.
Doubt hits me like a tidal wave.
It takes me away to far-off places,
and I can't say I mind it.

Beware of anyone who claims to be in love with Ayn Rand.
Beware of anyone who fears what they don't understand.
Beware of overthinking,
and slipping into mental quicksand,
but if you do,
then don't be afraid of reaching out for a helping hand.

Surrounded on all sides by the sudden prospect of doom.
He attempted to create some more room between what life he had left and an imminent death.

"Time flies when you're having fun,"
so isn't the opposite true?

How many eons did he spend doing things he hated?
How many lifetimes he must of lived through;
loathing his dreary circumstances,
his hobbies,
his friends.

Surrounded himself with dullness in order to blunt the passage of time.

I mean, in that situation,
what would you do?

He forewent all sense of pleasure for the sake of a longer life,
but in the end,
he lost it too.

I can bend this phrase three ways til next Friday but the fact remains that I'll never escape this cage without finding the bravery to make some serious changes.

A hope-filled faerie springs fully-winged from a flower planted in a bed of misery.
Her movements are mesmerizing but forgettable,
but oh how she sings.

The kind of haunting melody that plagues your dreams for the rest of eternity.

The thing is, I keep seeing ex-lovers and could-have-beens in mine.
They're always condescending towards me.
Telling me how I've wasted my life and/or ignoring me completely.

"Please," I plead them.
"See me for what I am," I bargain.

Sometimes, they look behind them while they're being dragged forward by their offspring and/or great achievements of their lives.

"I do," they say,
thus conveying that they want nothing more to do with it.

Between dreams of textured landscapes,
I saw an extreme close-up of your skin cells.
No matter what I do, I can't seem to get the taste of you out of my mouth.

Stained as we are,
with matching sets of scars,
I am ashamed of the constant reminder.
No matter how many beds I climb into, I'll always be two steps behind her.

She was once pristine,
with a soul just as clean.
Next to it, mine was a tattered disgrace.

I'll dream again of mountains of skin,
and all the rest of what can't be erased.

Talking about religion and the meaning of life,
with some foreign guy I met at a bar.
My friends have all left.
I'm just making noise.
I keep taking longingful glances at my car.
We could figure it all out tonight,
but I've done it before.
I wouldn't get much out of it,
and I can't be late for work.

Adulting?
Insulting!
I'm still just a kid.
Peter Pan ain't got **** on me,
(but he wishes he did!)

It's a syndrome of sorts,
born deep in the bones:
Children at heart with bodies full grown.

(Finally dude!)
All that dismal stuff was negatively affecting your attitude.

To whom can I attribute it to?

(I've been working on my thankful speech.)

"First, but hardly least,
I'd like to thank my mother for having me.

Secondly, I'd like to give a shout out to all the celestial bodies;
Thank you for aligning in such a great way today!

Thirdly, gravity.
It's been there from the beginning,
and it does well to keep me grounded.
I'd be dumbfounded without it!
It totally keeps me centered.

And now, I'd like to issue a disclaimer;
To the beasts with gnashing teeth that occasionally latch onto my back.
Thanks to the bravery of every lion tamer,
I'll never again feel the fear of their false facts!"

They failed to see the value in it.
Another life deemed wasted,
but beauty burst through all the seams.
Everything is sacred.

Sold sideways to commiserate with the product-placed abuser.
Got no time for delayed gratification;
pay extra for it to come sooner.
Make haste.
You've one life -
don't let it go to waste.
Now congratulate yourself on being the consummate consumer.

Traced in trails of scented dreams;
The vapors of eternity.

Condense into a thicker form,
and pour your warmth all over me.
Diving through liquid sunsets -
We'll melt in pools of love.
Flowing towards the horizon,
forever.

Crammed inside the tightest space,
two atoms come together,
to make something completely new:
Fantastic Holy Molecule!

Mash our masses.
Break us down.
Grind us into the finest powder.
Bound to the other by an unstoppable force;
transformed by its power.

Compassion is rare these days.
It's always been rare,
but you've got it in spades.

I'd tell you to beware;
not to just give it away to anyone -
that it's possible for it to be drained . . .

but I'm pretty sure you know better than I do,
and that it doesn't work that way.

I've walked down that dark street before
Went up that drive-way and knocked on the door
When the house stirred, I let out a sigh
Ran away and forgot to hide

Wrote my name upon a wall
But the name was false, and the wall was small
Called out loud to the starlit sky
But no one heard my desperate cry

Fell inside and broke my heart
Then couldn't find the missing parts
Filled my glass at dawn and dusk
But we were far from giving up

A restless soul on sleepless nights
Took to words by candle light

There is no place in here to hide
So if you are me,
then who am I?

A Saint, a Sinner, a Child, a Lie.
A Cynic, a Critic, a regular guy.
A man with an idea that refuses to die,
but with a memory that fades
along with life.

I took the road less traveled by
Broke my heart then remembered to cry,
Thinking to myself
All the while:

I've

never

felt

so

Alive!

Cricket to cricket
Mouth to mouth
A horse in the garden
A hole in the mouse
A moon crash landing on the roof of this house

Glasses to ashes
Dust enough
An army of lions
Couldn't figure this out

A print too dark
A matchbook on fire
An imp in the corner
With a spoon and a lighter

A line in the middle
A sheep in the hay
A boy with a fish
Thinks of something to say

A band in a march
A bulb with a glow
A group of people
With somewhere to go

A square and a circle
A line and a string
A mass of a miracle
Begins suddenly to sing

Play a song you like.
The kind you long to hear while you're out there living your life;
the one that rings in the back of your mind while you jump through the hoops of all the things that you're supposed to do.

Play it just for you,
and play it loud.

Feel its tones vibrate through your bones as you spring from the couch and start moving.

Finger-tips spread out with electricty shooting from one wall to the next.
Bouncing off the ceiling and falling back on top of your head as you somersault into the atmosphere.

Feel yourself disappear into the shadows of every moment you've lost while the time of your life suddenly materializes right before your eyes.

Play your song.
Play it loud.
This is your night.
This is your life.

Feel your soul move from your heart to your hands as your fists clench tight.
Punch the living daylights out of the sun until you're splattered with a glow that only the moon knows how to  appreciate.

She's only ever shone for you.

I'll say it now and I've said it before; the best book I've ever read is about the paradoxes of war.

A friend asked a question, then added
"But spare me the lecture."
I told him the best book I've ever read was about architecture.

An alien sent a question from his head telepathically to mine,
So I thought of that book I once read of a man unstuck in time.
(If the title was placed here, it would just almost rhyme)

Near Betelgeuse, I picked up a man in need of a ride
I asked where he was headed, and he said,
"Nowhere in mind."
He had a book with him.
It was some sort of guide.

I once kicked the crap around with a young kid in a hat.
He looked down at my hands and said,
"Hey, what's that?"
I told him it was a book full of phonies and jerks.
He nodded, then lit a cigarette.
There was blood on his shirt

A man once recited,
Word for word,
A book I recognized after having heard.
I said, "That's my favorite!"
And he gave me a look.
The best book I've ever read was about burning books.

I once played God, and gave a dead thing new life,
But it was so grotesque that I had to run away and hide.
A tormented and wretched human imitation.
Made me think of a book about a man tortured by his own creation.

One time I was reading a book above mentioned,
When a man came up to me and asked a most impertinent question.
He said, "I see you reading all the time, but have you ever read
the greatest book of all time?" I glared at him and said,
"No I have not, but I've heard much about it.
It's a very popular book, but I do without it."
He said I should reconsider.
That it's not one to pass.
I told him to take that **** book, and shove it up his ***!

I know you.
I like you.
We've similar parts inside our heads.

But I know it's not like you
to ever want to share a bed.

In truth, it's my go-to state.
I'll say it's not so bad when I actually mean that it's great.
Litotes and understatement -
that's my forte.

If I ever make the mistake of letting you get too close,
I'll soon compensate by pushing you far, far away.

I used to spend so much of my time
thinking of clever things to say (and in rhyme)
So that I could await the day when I'd find
someone who understands my kind.

They'd come along and say,
"You're fine,
I totally get it - we're of the same mind."

We'd hold hands and frolic in the sunshine,
but I'm exaggerating - a habit of mine.

Certainly that's all a bit idealized,
but when I think about it,
I begin to realize
that this has already happened.
In fact, several times.

And it makes me happy,
and reminds me, besides,
that I have wonderful friends
and we'll be alright.

I don't feel so hot.
That's to say, I don't feel too great.
Do you mind if I go up to bed?
It's all of a sudden got so late.

Dream on you maddening dream thing,
with shakes and scattered breathing.
Shattered moonlit scenes spilt out in technicolor.

Dream on in tickling breezes,
and coughs and spasmic sneezes.
Dream of falls and rises.
Dream on, oh great Dream Mother.

Sow these seeds in hallowed ground.
Furrow through common sights and sounds.
Grow your beasts in wild silence,
then echo out their roars.

Dream of mazes and ancient riddles.
Find the key to unlock all doors.
Dream of worlds both big and little.
Dream on you dreaming angel.
Dream more.

I bought a carton of eggs this morning.
Just a dozen.
Along with about $100 of other groceries I needed.
I didn't need the eggs though.
That is to say, that I didn't need to buy them.

(See, my sister has four fully grown chickens
who lay enough eggs to cover her family's needs and then some.
More eggs than she knows what to do with, honestly, and I could've easily gone to her place to get the dozen instead of buying it at the store.)

But I didn't, as a matter of convenience. It was simpler to buy them while I was at the store; to make one trip instead of two.

But then, when I was unloading the cart of groceries into the trunk of my car, that carton of eggs I bought, which (unbeknownst to me) had been placed on top of a 12 pack of toilet paper which toppled over after becoming unbalanced without the support of the other grocery bags that I had already unloaded, came crashing down.

They hit the parking-lot cement with a smack.
"Oh no, not the eggs!"
That's what I'd said.
I seriously said that out loud.

I picked up the bag with the fallen eggs in it. I opened the carton to see if they were alright, though I already knew at least a few had broken.

5, maybe 6. Maybe more. I don't know how many broke exactly, just looking at it made me sick. I walked the dripping bag back up to the entrance (after playing with the idea of going back in and being like: "Hey, my eggs broke in the parking lot because your inept bagger's idea of how to stack groceries was clearly inspired by the game Jenga. I demand a new carton of eggs!") but instead I just tossed them. The whole carton.

I'll just go to my sister's house before breakfast tomorrow.

Do you ever wonder about secret agents?
How they behaved when they were young?
Did they have troubled childhoods?
Were they not properly loved?
Did they have a lot of practice with resisting lust?
Did they learn the hard way that there's no one you can trust?

Do you ever wonder about rock stars,
and what makes them so rabid?
Did they recognize their own potential,
but couldn't fight those filthy habits?
All of that anger for their parents, ex-lovers, and friends.
Did they take a trip to hell only to find out that it never ends?
Did that anger actually stem from a disappointment with themselves?

And what about the lonely who never find Someone Else?
Did they all partake on a journey to find their self?
Did they hate the answer?
Did they get no results?
Did they get stuck in a tunnel then couldn't crawl their way out?
Maybe they just never found anyone who could deal with the depth of their faults.

I'm in a chrysalis stage:
still developing into an adult.
All of the mistakes I've made -
their lessons are being retained.
It's all preparation and training.
One day I'll be great.
You don't have to believe me,
but just you wait.

Rising from the ashes like a phoenix,
Or a fiery **** that won't flush.

I'm distressed. Everything's gone grey,
and I'm just soOOoo depressed today.
I can't seem to shake these blues.
My life's a lie that I can't make true.

I want to curl up into a little ball, in the corner of the room.
My days are all filled with gloom and doom.
These rhymes are tired, and so am I.
I'm just waiting around for the day that I die.

My soul is empty.
My heart has holes.
Bliss and Happiness -
Who are they? What're those?

You could ask me who I am,
and "Nothing" is what I'll say.
Just one more sad poet.
Another bad cliche.

There's a full moon tonight.
I have the time to appreciate it.
Must be doin' something right.

Let your shining beacon lead me to this foreign shore;
the sands are unfamiliar, but I know I've been here before.
I can recall the curves of this roof as if they were the ceiling to the heights of my own dreams,
with the layout of rooms teasing the deepest parts of my memory.
I've this thing for remembering details -
shapes and scents in particular.
Struck dumb in the shower as a long since past scene takes hold of me;
picking blueberries in the sun.
Playing on the swing set that still yet stands,
as if some ancient monument in a half-forsaken land.
We've both grown a bit rusty.
The chains creak from the strain of my weight,
but nothing ever truly gets forgotten:
I have before and always will belong in this place.

All I've done is talk trash about you
Ever since I burned your bridge
I'm not sure why I do it,
This constant talking ****.
Perhaps it helps the sadness,
The lingering regrets
Perhaps you feel the same way
Uh huh
Yea right
I bet
You know you really can go **** yourself
You're such a stupid *****
You filthy, *****, ***** ****
Go **** another ****
My friends all laugh and call you names
To join in on the fun
But it really makes me kind of sick
To think of what I've done
I don't really hate you
at least, not down inside
In fact I might still love you . . .
I hope you ******* die

People are so angry these days. Angrier than they've ever been.
Let's not get into the reasons why, but rather, work on finding a solution.
Perhaps that's too ambitious. Maybe settle for some simple anger management instead. A healthier alternative outlet for all that anger would do wonders for our collective interpersonal communications.

What you might try is yelling at objects.

Why objects? (You might be asking . . . )
Well, because the last thing we need is more yelling at each other.
There's more than enough of that going on already,
and yelling at animals would just be plain cruel.
They put up with enough of our **** without adding in random unsolicited rants to the mix.

And definitely not plants or trees. (I mean, that's obvious.)
Everyone knows that they're vengeful and hateful things,
and hold grudges that last longer than most lifetimes.

This leaves inanimate objects, which are fantastic candidates for the receipt of the worst of our wrath. Traffic lights, for instance, make a great target. Go ahead and feel free to dive in the next time you're forced to stop at a red light. Yell at it for not staying yellow long enough for you to make it through. Yell it at for making you sit and risk being late to whatever important destination it is that you're going to. Yell at it for being the whoreson ******* three-eyed ******* that it is. Curse its stupid ******* face and its whole ****** family of stupid-faced ******* ******* *******. By the time it turns green, I'll guarantee that you'll feel much better.

What if I'm angry at home? (You might be asking.)
Well, there are plenty of objects to choose from there, though I find it's best to have an added incentive to already be mad at a thing.
For this reason, you might find it helpful to keep a few faulty kitchen appliances around. It doesn't have to be anything major. A coffee maker with a cracked carafe, for instance, or a microwave that never fails to burn the bag of popcorn. Feel free to not hold back on these things. Threaten to smash the worthless ******* to pieces, then to light those pieces on fire in the backyard and **** on their ashes. (Do refrain from actually acting on these threats however, lest your neighbors think you've finally lost it.) Simply making the threats alone should grant you some relief.  

What if I'm too tired of being angry all of the time to get out of bed? (You might be asking.)
Well, there's the alarm clock right there within arm's reach. It's such a cheap and fragile little thing. I think it'd be forgivable to actually go right on ahead and send the thing sailing across the room. If your alarm clock has already been smashed then you could attack the lamp, or whatever random knick-knacks might be lying on the bedstand. Though it would require standing up, tearing down the ceiling fan is also a viable option.
I'd hold back from laying into your bed though, lest all that hateful energy gets retained in the sheets.
The last thing you'd need after a long day of venting anger at everything around you would be to dream of evil trees finally getting their revenge. Trust me.

I don't want to annoy the few people who don't annoy me.

But at what cost?
Holding back.
Biting tongue.
Sitting out when I could be having more fun.

Oh right, fun. That became a problem. Having too much fun makes things fray at the edges.

So here I am, all proper hemmed,
and a bit lonely for refusing to annoy a friend.

*******.
Holy ******* ohmygod where the **** have you been my whole life?
Good gorgeous holy God.
Is this really happening?
Do you really exist?
Do you mean to say that you really actually genuinely exist?
This is incredible!

How have you been here this whole time and I've just had no idea?
This whole time!?
It hardly seems fair,
but I don't even care anymore;
It doesn't matter.
It doesn't matter because you're here now.

Turns out that life was only pretending to be cruel and unjust and ugly before.
Turns out that it was all just the the set-up to the biggest and greatest revelation that anyone in the history of the world has ever experienced.
Turns out that every disgrace, every bad choice, every ache and pain endured was all worthwhile;
For your face.
Your voice.
Your smile.

If you feel impotent in a world that doesn't move in the way you'd prefer it to; a world that is progressing at a rate that you can't keep up with. That it's spinning on despite you, and you see it as a personal attack, as in that it's spinning just to spite you, and this makes you feel desperate and alone and bitter, and these feelings swell up into a boiling hatred that makes you want to commit ******, in order to make yourself be heard in a world that ignores you.
Please, do the world a favor, and **** yourself first.

This is what you need.
Satisfaction guaranteed.
Everyone is doing it.
Just listen to these true consumer stories.

We've got charts and graphs to prove it.
(We go to great lengths to feed our greed)
This product will fill that hole.
Buy it and finally be happy.

Because we know that you feel alone
in a culture built to make you feel empty.
Look at what it's done for the people you love:
fully endorsed by your favorite celebrities!

You can't live without it.
(Don't you dare doubt it)
We provide it to you out of love
(for a nominal cost)
If you believe in a God above,
and in our country -
if you support our troops,
and want to help our economy -
then you'll pull out your credit card and call the number on your screen.
(give us your money)
To spend it is destiny.

Let us tell you of its miracles.
(We know you're inclined to believe)
We liken our product to the advent of Christ.
(Become a walking advertisement (pay the ******* price))

We've smashed the competition.
This is what you've been wishing for.
Sanctify your existence.
(Buy it now, you mindless sycophantic *****)

If you don't believe what we say,
remember,
it's a virtue to have faith.
It's been reinforced by television, movies, and plays.
We know you pray before you go to sleep every night.
We've got the answer to those prayers.
Buy our product and finally feel alright.
(This is the part where you pay)
What a way to live a life.
Ain't capitalism great?

It's hard to stay light
When these thoughts feel so heavy
When it comes to living life
I'm not sure if I'm ready

And maybe you feel the same way too
But then isn't that another reason to stay away from you?

I can never tell if my feelings are true
I feel so full of ****
I don't know what to do

Can you see through it?
I feel so exposed
Are you aware of my poems and prose?

If you liked what I write
Would that make it alright
Would you throw your dice in with a lot such as mine?

But my mind isn't sound
My feet aren't on the ground
I'll never pick you up if I always feel down

This is a warning
It's just insecure
Trying to appease
Cause I feel destined for war

I'm just afraid
That if you get with me
You'll be left wanting more

You're ilk as folk,
cracked the egg to its yoke,
as the dyslexic kid couldn't help but laugh at his own joke.

The ice hit teeth,
but the bite bit deep underneath as the asphymatic kid fought for every minute of his sleep.

I woke up in a sweat after having a dream about being so misunderstood that it swept the world clean.

But here's the part where the bristles start to scrape away the dirt that's been left unattended for too long.

Missles out of mole hills,
shot into the long arm of the smartest kid in your advanced placement lit class,
who's been busting his *** washing dishes ever since.

The current bet is that whoever wears the gilded hat is as sure as **** to live in its brim.

I'd just as quickly double it on the off-chance that he'll win.

You can't play on my sympathy.
Those strings are off-limits to you.
This ***** is in need of repairs.
The piano has gone out of tune.

You can't count on my curiosity.
I no longer care what you do.
The experiment is over.
I can't put this data to use.

You can't depend on my desire.
I'm not turned on by your moves.
I refuse to be your dancing partner.
I will never slide into your groove.