I am abhorrently uninspired

Words dribble from my mouth like burped up bourbon
I am boring, disheveled, with razor bumps all over my face
Bags hang low off the deep circles around my eyes
I don't even know why I go to bed anymore

My wardrobe is a combination of the mundane and the gifted
My hair has cowlicks that are poorly held down and combed out with pomade
That hair grows more grey every day, mocking an underwhelming existence wasted
My ears have gauges, my body has tattoos, and these things do nothing to ail my complete lack of styling, image or personality

I am a twisted amalgamation of things desired and things forgotten
A grey blob splattered with color is a grey blob all the same
I am simply another numbered ball desperately begging to be chosen at your local lottery

In a house with all grey walls, vinyl planking, and cheap decor
The blinds on my windows are dusty and broken, with no drapes to hide them
My home is like the apartment of a 20 something that has the funding to purchase easy to assemble makeshift furniture and cheap mass produced art
Incense and candles burn constantly to mass the scent of my impending death and the desperation in evading it