pk.
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Oct 23, 2011
- Messages
- 1,833
The gun went off at birth
And people left for the
Human race. I stayed put
Thinking it wiser to sit
And think and to watch.
The government has made the world
Materialistic, which
Totally fucked with
My idealistic sense of
Reality. The constant
Sitting doesn't pay off,
You're better off going through
This movie doing things,
And to think nothing
Of morals or integrity,
Those things mean nothing
In the pushing-over
And winning and losing
Of the barnyard reality.
I woke to morning traffic
A full glass of vodka and milk
(I ran out of orange juice)
My first thought is dualistic,
Another day wasted I suppose
The Bible is helpful
But so are infomercials
When you're stoned.
I hate myself and what
I've become.
I want to wash my clothes
And then myself, to feel fresh
To start the day clean
I'm hungover and feel dirty.
This stupid guilt following me
Everywhere, punishing me for
Things I haven't done or
I'm about to do. Time again
To roll another cigarette, ironic -
The only skill I've become
Good at, and it kills me,
And this life that I lead
I find it funny, I suppose,
Until it kills me.
I have a box for my books,
I think I'll move to the country
The city is psychotic (and full of dickheads)
And I belong in a field.
And people left for the
Human race. I stayed put
Thinking it wiser to sit
And think and to watch.
The government has made the world
Materialistic, which
Totally fucked with
My idealistic sense of
Reality. The constant
Sitting doesn't pay off,
You're better off going through
This movie doing things,
And to think nothing
Of morals or integrity,
Those things mean nothing
In the pushing-over
And winning and losing
Of the barnyard reality.
I woke to morning traffic
A full glass of vodka and milk
(I ran out of orange juice)
My first thought is dualistic,
Another day wasted I suppose
The Bible is helpful
But so are infomercials
When you're stoned.
I hate myself and what
I've become.
I want to wash my clothes
And then myself, to feel fresh
To start the day clean
I'm hungover and feel dirty.
This stupid guilt following me
Everywhere, punishing me for
Things I haven't done or
I'm about to do. Time again
To roll another cigarette, ironic -
The only skill I've become
Good at, and it kills me,
And this life that I lead
I find it funny, I suppose,
Until it kills me.
I have a box for my books,
I think I'll move to the country
The city is psychotic (and full of dickheads)
And I belong in a field.