I wake to spite, not morning's grace
A cracked old mug, a creased-up face.
These hands once built, now just complain,
These legs just ache, then ache again.
The world outside? A painted fraud.
At time I think Oh My Lord.
Sunrise? Just a cosmic ****.
In the mirror I see the same old Sod.
Bed’s a trap, and so’s the day.
It’s hell whichever game you play.

I sneer at hope, I scoff at light,
I'd punch a prayer clean out of sight!
The honest type? They make me gag,
Too soft to stand, too proud to sag.
No poem saves, no brush redeems,
No truth survives the in-betweens.
My thoughts? Let’s say they’d earn a cell
But I’m too bored these days to raise that hell.

I'm not insane, I’m just aware
That dreams don't buy you decent air.
I’m not depressed, just fully clear
There’s nothing left to want down here.
I bark, I *****, I bite my lip,
Then sip regret like whiskey drip.
I think of death with half a grin
Then **** myself for love again.

So here I sit, a charming wreck,
With wisdom hanging off my neck.
The world can burn, or go bake a pie
I'll judge it all and never try.
They say "Go Find yourself some peace!"
I guess I would rather find release.
well, now I’ve looked up there not once
but twice...
It hides beneath my unpaid vice.
But cheers to life, this grand hooray!
Where fools get rich, and cynics pay.