It should go without saying
that I go without paying
any attention to you
Your life is my strife,
existence a pun,
and makes you look like a fool.
So you eat lots of shrooms
and listen to Tool...
what do you think that makes you?
When deep is skin-deep,
and piercings eat you,
the tattoos will only accrue
To "tell your story,"
and Whaddup, homie?
until death parts you
From the sex you don't get
and the lies you believe
to sleep at night, stoned and blue
If you were a book,
there'd be lots of pictures
and captions that just read "Who?"
with a cover to judge
and be pretty true
an accurate description of you.