This is misery
wrapped up in a tasty, flakey
egg roll pastry.

Bite right into me,
see what comes flowing
through your teeth.

This is misery,
we are history,
and we're never coming home.

This is misery it's
not a mystery
how we ended up alone.

It's distracting me
how the distance between
just never seems to shrink
at all.

This is misery,
somber symphony
of a thousand creaking bones.

We're still history,
a book brimming with grief
for what could've been
but now no one will ever know.
What happened to me?
Did I always bounce between
the present and futures unknown?

This is misery,
don't call out for me,
I'm never coming home.