You are bad weather and
lightning striking for the second time
on a single target.
You are an illness,
a sore that never goes away.
You ruin things.
You ruin everything.
Even when you try to ruin one thing,
you mess that up and ruin another.
*******, it's a black comedy
and nobody can win it;
nobody can smile here.
Yeah, sure, you can't sleep tight in
your moral blankets, but can you
dance a two step holding onto
nothing but the skeletons in your closet?
I won't be grateful for anything now-
I won't be waiting anymore,
I can't keep up anymore,
not like this. If madness couldn't
keep it in place, now I'll wear sanity
and be all the more psychopathic for it.
You are as you are
and everything else
just exists, doesn't it?