I did what I had to do,
just to get through
the day to get you
to listen to what I say.

I struggled to this point
to make decent pay
and still I feel
each struggle
was a battled waged
in vain.

I recall
all the dreams I had.
Now I know
why poets feel bad,
cause the real world
never lives up to
what weird word rhapsodies
can do for you.

Like a falling star
or a candle in the wind
I keep burning
but I am not made
to relight the fury
when it goes out.

Though I live
a life of doubt
uncertain
what this hurting
situation is all about,
I still put verbs
and nouns down
cause this lyrical clown
is trying to leave
something worthwhile
behind.