I slave over slabs of stone
To practice the art
Of being called an artist,
Falling behind consistently
Has taught me
That no many slabs
I slay by your bedside
And pray by every book
I will keep getting trophies
For showing up

Please, oh please!
Could I be good enough?
Yet the howls of the titans
That rest on my subconscious
Screeching on the windowsill on my cranium
That I'm not good enough

Funny
The Mating calls
These gods cry out to my fate
Reminds me of my mother.
Calmly mentioning the same phrase
When she threw my PS2
Down the hollow stair cases
That lead up to my innocence,
Teaching me that life isn't a game,
No matter how many times
I would reset it.
It would keep playing
The same thing.
Why oh Why
Do you fall short.

Why am I not good enough
To be remembered?
No matter what I scream
I seem to be stuck in this bubble of
Who?
Whats his name?
I keep forgetting
That I was targeted
As being Incredibly forgettable.
For my punishment
I shall sit there

Wait what?
How Was I going to finish this again?