Good looking I'm not, but that's always a thought,
That crossed your mind I suppose.
More than skin deep, how my mind leaps,
From the bizarre to severely morose.
Well I guess I'm alright, I have to fight,
No one's handing me a platter of gold.
The mind is lost, in comforting costs,
To transactions it remains sold.
But I won't want to talk, or chalk,
About the gears whirring inside me.
You wouldn't understand, that grotesque land,
See anything the way I usually see.
My world is in my mind, in a book bind,
I can only travel vicariously you see.
Some characters are me, some I can't be,
Get to rent their eyes for free.
My thoughts disordered, provide the fodder,
Makes it hard for me to quietly sit.
I don't think I know abnormal, or the normal,
If my life depended on it.
Just a haze, a tricky maze,
You're hidden from the need to hide.
I can feel the pangs, and the fangs,
Hollowing away the pulp inside.
I might as well give up, a hemlock cup,
And serve it to the self.
Nobody would notice, pretend artifice,
A skeleton hugging a bookshelf.
I don't exist now, I won't exist then,
No matter to a planet of eight billion apes.
Self righteous stance, superstitious prance,
Clarity always their sour grapes.
I don't fit, unconditionally admit,
And can't propitiate to the venal gods.
The grains are against, practical pains,
Difficult to fight the scary odds.
They see blood, they come in a flood,
They race to rub salt in.
Selfish souls, superficial trolls,
They get away with their sin.
I'm just tired, my nerves have wired,
A repeating depressive bout.
In my mind I'm dead, wanting to blow my head,
Is all I can think about.
