Wasted sober thoughts, prays the hardest without
picking a religion. Sounds as a Muslim, playing Christian.
But just a name; as their friends were pointing and teasing.
All the good days you claim; aren't the ones for the missing.

Wasted sober thoughts, made myself out of made up
thoughts. Make yourself a hero, just to save your worth.
A cape on too tight; squeezing the air out of my neck,
as my delusional depressions is still the only threat.
Bags under my eyes; not tiredness, but all the luggage of
my greatest regrets.

Wasted sober thoughts, my pain is a word I can't explain,
down under like the lowest writes. I must be sad again.
Swept under my head, deeply thinking into my grave.
And I express them well, when I'm feeling a strike of brave.

When I’ve got my fill of wasted sober thoughts,
intoxication to be expressing my unread words.
Do you read me or not; copy or roger this lot?
It's of no fault of your own, just a poem I've written
out of my lows. I'm intoxicated by words.