What are you meant to do today
Sit quietly and enjoy the view, to pay
your dues and wait patiently for improvement
while so many ants scuttle on by,
Talking and biting and lighting cigarettes
and I lie in my bed and I fret
about all the things that don't matter
like why are we here?

Who are you meant to be, and
what's the purpose behind your story?
Weak poetry makes the world go round.
That and people not getting enough sleep.
I can't remember who I was or who I am going to be.
I'm the one that won't make it
because I'm the one without a dream,
like my father before me,
no passion, no cool,
no fashion, just school and work and pension funds
stepping up each rung of the ladder
but you fall off and dunno what to do
because now the whole ******* ladder's fallen on top of you.
Weak poetry makes the world go round
and lonely singers in lonely bars
with their hands on their hearts and their eyes on the stars
because it's a star that makes the earth go round.
Magnets and the sun or something like that
Dinosaurs and satellites and bureaucrats
and peace and war and what's for dinner tonight and all of that
and none of that matters.

I don't know where I'm going with this
I'm waiting and writing until I can get ******,
when I run out of antibiotics
and have successfully quit the deathsticks
85 per cent of throat cancer is caused by smoking
but so was 85 per cent of my good moods
so now I have to choose if I'd rather be happy and die
or live long and sigh and cry after every meal.
Eat and breathe and believe
that weak poetry makes the world go round
because I'm full of it.
I'm full of **** but at least I'm full of something.