If I had anything to say, maybe of interest,
I’d pin the fuckin’ thing up on my pinterest.
But all my conversations now are with myself,
And it’s slowly eating at my mental health.
Like seagulls picking at a whales’ rotting corpse,
The wide beach view is fine, until of course,
You look a bit closer, see the detail,
That’s my sanity: half eaten whale.
I should probably get a friend or maybe two, I like them in the same way I like you. Fine until they open up their mouth, Then I don’t want to hear whatever shit is coming out.
Well, maybe I’m a narcissistic bitch, With some kind of messed up mental itch, But if I scratch it ’til it don’t itch any more, There’ll be chunks of greyish matter scattered all over the floor.
They say you’ll never love someone ‘til you learn to love yourself, Well Catch 22, here’s a thought, let me share the wealth. How can I learn to love myself, ’til I’m loved by someone else? The lesson goes both ways, as most good lessons do, And because everybody else hates me, I’ve learned to hate me too.
Spent three weeks in an unmade bed, A pounding in my skull, Repeating thoughts in my head. Like the lyrics of a song Singing ‘please let me die before long.’
I’m trying hard to hold on to the act of holding on, But even now my own mind wants me gone, So the line I’m holding onto’s not that strong. The basic problem with this kind of rope, you see, Is that it’s tethered far too tightly to my sanity.
Maybe if I enjoyed a single moment, Maybe if I could control or own it, I’d be happier alive, Given a reason to survive, But all I get is non-stop misery.
So fuck me. No apologies for profanity. I’m stuck here in my head, wishing I was fuckin’ dead, Because there’s nothing in this world that I can see, Nothing for me. Nothing for me.
Did I learn to hate myself
With such immaculate perfection?
Self taught and unaware,
Still I excell, I succeed,
Seemingly such a strange sensation,
For I fail flawlessly amongst
Keep one eye on the wolf, my dear,
And one eye on the door.
But then who dreams the dreamer, dear?
And which one came before?
So one eye for the dreamer then,
One eye, one dream too many.
Best you look behind again,
Before you don’t have any.
I’m dressed to bitch, and
There’s an angry itch
Behind my eyes.
One that says I may be guilty
Of more than one demise.
Imagine their surprise
As I cut them down to size.
My verbal six-shooters hang in cross-draw,
Sights filed down, and furthermore,
With a quick-pull-trigger,
This mouth is set to go off.
‘You’d better run, better run,
Outrun my gun.’