It's better this way.
I'm better off as a
spectator to the
way everyone
else finds happiness.

They dress their
best and pray on
sundays.
I drink in stale
clothes and laugh
out loud in the
open park in
the dead of night.
High and at one
with the
thieving masked  
lords of the night.

Theirs are goals
and mine are troubling
questions that cause them
discomfort.
I try to pull on
the  answers
no one wants
to really
hear,
not even
myself.

They all long for
love and praise.
Heart shaped
chocolate filled
boxes is what
represents their
artificial idea
of love.

I touch not on
this subject.

I chase away my madness
while drunk and too
high to keep up with
my own shadow.

You'll find me in
the darkness if I let
you.

I'll have the pistol in
my pocket, a bottle
in my hand
and this dead
end love on
the mind.