Wake up on the wrong side of the bed,
And pull a muscle slightly.
In the pain, to the ground you’re led,
And jump back up again sprightly.
Like the lumpy pillow at the edge,
I like my despair rare.
Get smacked by the ink trying to caress your hair,
While the bespectacled man mouths disappointment.
And his wife looks down at you and stares,
Brush it all off because hey, it's atonement.
Like the lukewarm cereal milk,
I like my despair rare.
She smiles at you, but her eyes seem to deplore,
And her boredom, oh large is it writ.
Ah her mouth was a chocolate fountain before,
But of late, it seems like it’s on autopilot.
Like her constant glances at the icon,
I like my despair rare.
Breathe in the comforting smell of meat,
Smoked and salted to perfection.
Only for that one song to play on repeat,
And move over to the other section.
Unlike what I ordered, and like the steak I got,
I like my despair rare.
Break off those wonderful relations,
Through no fault of your own.
And get sent on quite a bad trip,
Realizing all that time together was just a loan.
Like the price tag on that fancy bottle,
I like my despair rare.
Go home to watch the grand game,
With a six needed for the fans and players to mingle.
It seemed as though even fate wanted to maim,
As the voices echoed “Single!”
Like that dipping yorker,
I like my despair rare.
Back in bed with a heavy head,
Perhaps things didn’t go all that bad.
What went wrong? Was everything misread?
Maybe this is the time to be sad.
I like my despair rare, I do.
But maybe it likes me more.
