Untitled
I don’t want your sympathy,
I don’t want your pity or generosity, Including charity.  
It ain’t fair to me, but there’s nothing there for me.
Things they say make the believable rarely seen.
Every, “Marry Me!” seems like a dismal thing,
As memories bind, not a material ring.

Clear my mind with mindless movie scenes, of money addicts serving fiends, video games where I am the fiends, and youtube videos of the viewers reaction as it fluctuates and sings.

In this perfect society I’m still considered an anomaly.
I named this poem, “untitled” because that’s what it’ll
Be. Another piece of tree in the garbage can that's grading me.

I don’t want your two cents,
Or you’re, “I thought the world would never come to this!”.
“When you shot at the stars you must of missed.”
My company you’ll miss, as surely this,
Is no different from my dismal miss at what is bliss.

Oh, my dismal miss at what is bliss,
Who thought it would come to this?
Who would take pleasure in reading this?
I question it as I read it again; and once again.