Nobody cares about
the leftover foil
from a long lost party.

Nobody sings the song
that peaked at thirty-three
in nineteen ninety-six.

Nobody catches the
girl with the thin straw hair
when she jumps from the bridge.

Nobody writes poems
about a dying ****
within suburbia.

I don't think my friends like me very much
and I don't think I like me very much.

A generic ex-teen sipping coffee
and all I ******* do is sip coffee.

Making a statement we already know
and telling a tale we already know.

Trying to be clever, wicked, and smart
and thinking I'm cool because I am smart.

So this song will end; it's lyrics are dead
and then I will leap and then I'll be dead.

Amongst friends sits the shrew.
A tear glistens so bright ,
he's happy, through and through.

Ecstatic young blossoms
resting amongst the thorn
crawling from the bottom

They told me
that love hurt.

Allow me the pleasure of my demise.
Lethargic release is all that we seek.
Leaking down upon our infantile mind.

Isometric viewpoints of a hanging.

Never before, and never again, we'll
eventually fade into the dusk.
Even my stories shall soon find grave.
Death is a shadow, looming in our space.

Illogical proof that it's all for naught
Sign point towards these truths we hold.

Yet I continue to appreciate
Our innocent moments of reserved,
Unbeknownst feelings of adoration.

I am King.
I speak good.
I see lot.
I see girl.
She so cute.
She look good.
I kiss her.
She cry loud.
That no good.
I cry too.
Make it good.
She look up.
Sees my tear.
Kiss me too.
She is good.
"I love you"
I am King.
I am good.

On the seventh moan comes the
howl of everything we have forgot.

Let us sit now upon this throne,
our lies nestling by the river Styx.
Read from the book of our father, or
drown upon what you call your son.

Maybe I'm wrong, I know not the truth,
and perhaps I am like the liar too.
You may yet be saved from this casual justice.

I however am lost in sin.

Bitter though this may make me,
every story must have its end.

So now I say this to you
and I hope you heed my word well.
Voracious though I may be,
even you may be saved from the
domain in which you dwell.