Knock, knock-
who's there?
No one?
Just a pile of **** on your doorstep again
and look it's on fire!
But you know better than to stomp it out.
you run and get the water but by that time
your house is up in flames.
As you look out the window you see life running by
throwing his head back and cackling.
What a ******* joke.

Everything is **** at my doorstep again-
it won't be long until the flames wreck everything.
I try to hold on-
but it seems as if every time I try to be happy
life is patiently awaiting around the corner
to steal my smile and run away with my optimism.

Optimism has always been a two-faced *****
she will come around when you least expect it
and help you with a ****** breakup
but then you get a call
your aunt is in the psych ward-
and her husband has bone cancer, again.
So optimism looks you straight in the face
says, "**** this" then runs away.
Each time becomes more routine
and each time you get your hopes up
that it will stay by your side but it never ******* does
because this one seems to be blind.

Life is always the thief
a getaway car two streets ahead
before you even realize anything is missing.
Life is the one you see at parties
and you just can't remember it's name
so you just use dude, or homie.
But life isn't your ******* homie.
It robs you blind at your most vulnerable moments
and laughs as everything is crashing down.
Seems to me it sometimes has a soft side though
giving you a little slack when things are going too bad again.

Things are going pretty bad again-
but life doesn't have time for my **** anymore
it has a kid on the way
and I think he named it suicide.
The spawn is what keeps you up at night
when life can't handle you anymore
and you can't handle it.
There's suicide knocking at your door
but it doesn't leave a bag of ****.
It's just there-
reminding you all the time, it's there.
You used to babysit it-
feed it, give it nutrients to grow
but you realized it was too much work
and it was just intensely bringing you down.
So you had a dinner date with optimism
and you agreed to get back together.
But sometimes you wake up at 4am
and suicide is crying again begging you to hold it-
maybe even acknowledge it's existence..
You want to-
every ******* day you want to
just to stop the crying.
But you realize it's not your ******* child
it will never be your child-
and at this point it's getting a little too old to be babysat.