Thoughts are racing, pacing fast,
Swirling like tornado storms.
Sweeping up my common sense,
Forcing it to bend, transform.
Once a stream, serene and calm,
Thinking was a simple thing.
Now I'm forced to block my thoughts
Just to stop the pain they bring.
Anxious, nauseous, broken down.
Nervous sweats, all hot as hell.
All I hope is this next storm
Comes to sweep me up as well.

Going through the motions,
A corpse on puppet strings.
Showing no emotions,
Too wooden for such things.
One day I'll be locked away
Inside my wooden crate.
Till that day I'll dance and sway;
A much more awful fate.

Now here is the story
Of how you were born.
Your parents did ****
One soft Sunday morn.
It seeped out her *******,
Dripped down in her slit,
And that's how she birthed out
A man full of ****.

Look at this horizon stretch
To make our lovely sky,
Wrapped up like a ribbon
On the worst gift you could buy.

Hang me from the rings of Saturn.
Beat the stars into my eyes.
Make my screams a supernova,
Spreading over twilit skies.
Grate my skin on lunar craters.
Drown me in the milky way.
Do whatever you deem fit,
Just promise me you'll stay.

"It's not my place," the girl began,
"To tell you how to be.
But have you ever thought it might
Be nothing short of sheer delight
To run away with me?"

I found, between the cosmic doom
And manic laughing states,
Is where no more than boredom floats
And unfulfillment waits.

Some will turn, that want relief,
To ***, or drugs, or love.
Some will find just one is weak
And take all the above.

But others have much looser grips,
And joy slips through the three.
And that can make existence bleak
For those in life like me.