I was brought into this world
Against my will,
And I refuse to leave the same,
Even if you think my brain is ill
Or debate if I'm really sane,
The point of the matter is still
That this life's a ******* game
Full of cheap plastic thrills
And cheaper female names
That infiltrate your sense of peace
And without taking any blame
Tie you up with internal chains
And make you scream with quiet rage,
Passive aggressive forms of pain
That melt away
The tired bones
From your tired frame
Till all that's left
Is a stone
With a phrase
Engraved
That's supposed
To explain
What the world gained
And lost
From the compost
That replaced
The face
In the grave.