allow me to get real
If I may
the car wash where I work *****
money is great
because I love to blow it
but work is soul crushing
sometimes I fantasize
about going to sleep
and never waking up
not suicide
just an infinite nothing
in one small **** I could be gone
and not have to worry
about letting down my crazy alcoholic mother
who I love more than I would've thought possible
or my absentee father
who has been a wallet whom I've grown a surprising attachment to
and you all read my poems
I scoff at even calling them that
but you read them
and maybe think,
I can relate
or I like his style
well lemme tell you something
my style is self destruction
***** stained sofas
and ****** faces
and there is no glamour to it
and I'll be the first to tell you
there's no glory
I'm in a hole
and I'm addicted to digging
but if I may
let me say this
don't worry about me
worry about you
worry about what will happen when we all wake up
and ask ourselves
what the **** have I been doing with my life
where did all of this time go
all I can say is this
if you aren't living
on your own terms
working towards whatever it is you SOB's love
then you might as well die now
because if you aren't living for passion
are you really living at all?