She’s a pretty girl. Eyes that shine, and a smile twice as wide as mine. 

 

Something is wrong... it’s probably me. 

I must’ve hurt her. I offended her. I regret losing her. 

 

No, wait... she’s still sad. But I left? I did what she wanted. How can I be the problem if she is still.... 

 

I love....

I hate...

I don’t think...

I feel too late...

I am everything but great.

 

Grate - that which cuts me as I slip through the cracks. As I descend to a new level of “whacked”. 

 

The fog - it glooms. I only see fungus and shrooms. 

 

Why are we all so broken down here? 

 

Why can’t I feel anything...

Why not love? 

It’s all I’ve ever truly wanted. 

How... not how, why. Why do I do the things that I do? 

Is it the fear of being forgotten...

Or is it a fear of having already been forgot. 

 

I want to sing. I want to dance. I want to laugh - now, now I cough. 

Now I choke as I inhale dirty smoke. 

They’ll laugh when I crash. They’ll speak of having predicted it. 

 

Why didn’t you stop me? 

Why not ask how I’m feeling? 

Why not ask...

Why not? Would it be too tough a task? Am I only... him. 

 

Just another body, in another chair. 

 

“He must not care. You really think he fears? No. He can’t hear us. No, he can’t feel... thus - thus we talk shit and label him as trash. 

Let him be someone else’s pain in the ass.”

 

Make them laugh. Sure, play the fool - then you’ll be cool. Keep me around as a jester! I’ll say “YES SIR!” 

 

I tried to be myself - turns out I’m a burnout. 

 

Just another bum. They’ll say as they pass: “Good Lord, I wonder if he even had a mum.” 

 

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