Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up
And not be us anymore?
Just sit and drink some coffee
And talk about the war
Perfectly mundane folks
Without a care beyond the debt
No need to be profane folks
Concerned with only death

Wouldn't it be nice if we could grow up
And be us in some other way?
Just rock out to some Zepplin
And smoke our cares away
Perfectly mundane folks
No worries but the rent
No need to be ashamed folks
Beaten, broken, all regret

It would be just fantastic
to explode into all the color
That's always popping away
Behind my eyes

To leave a ****** mess
All over the west wing
Of my favorite restaurant
Would be swell

Not just morbid, brutal,
or simply satisfying
But emphatically ironic
Erupting with action

A life of depression
A violent expression
Stained to tell a story
*Beautifully gory.

I had such conviction, such passion
But it all came from hate
A man of words, not action
More about stuffing my face
I laid still and died once
Just running from fate
I fell over and cried once
Just to change up the pace
This boredom is numbing
And numbness is boring
I'll soon start to slumber
Or maybe start *******
Pitter patter, the lone raindrop
And it doesn't give one ****
If only I was a raindrop
If only I had such luck.

A grey and black world
is a boy's best friend
No cares or worries
Until boyhood ends
A world of color
Is all a man wants
When all he can have
is grey and black haunts

I'm a real work of Art
The first of my kind
A man without substance
An echo for a mind
Just sizzle, no steak
and no greater wish
than to be still, not quake
And swim like a fish

A thrown away writing
1st Draft, Maybe Last
A poor piece of rhyming
Burned up, gone fast
The last thought given
and the worst one yet
It's me you speak of
Melancholy's 1st pet

Ideas Rampant; Lies Abound
I am Satan's Favorite Hound
Kicked and Beaten; Shaved and Sheared
Nothing knowing but what is feared

Born with blood instead of Soul
I was first to dig the hole
Churning lies to spread on bread
My small voice makes smiles dead