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Am I a bad person?
I always thought that I can redeem myself somehow, but maybe all I do is be a shitty influence to everyone and screw up the things that barely tolerate me. I’m not trying to degrade myself, but sometimes it really feels that way, and other people have been so kind as to point it out unkindly to me, which is a lasting evidence of how factual it is. Go ahead, stone me and mock me for my self-pity, say that I’m just being a completely self-absorbed, egocentric, narcissistic prick. Fine, I’ll accept that because I know that better than anyone else. And I know, believe me. I know. After all, there’s no sinking lower for something that is at their lowest point. And if I’m nothing but a nuisance, maybe I should do everyone the favour of staying the fuck out of their way. It hurts me, it really does, and yet how cruelly ironic that it has to end this way on the very peak of a new year. I thought I could still change. I thought it’s not too late. But guess I’m just a stupid ideologist living in a rose-painted world, and ugly reality has reared its head and ripped off the illusion straight out of my eyes. And am I wallowing in seven circles of misery. It’s so difficult because I’m still in the process of convincing myself, and honestly I don’t want to accept it, but if it really has to be that way, then I’m just going to have to suck it up and see it for as it is. How disgusting am I? Am I really that fucking repulsive enough that people want me dead? No, sorry, that they need me dead? Do I hear a roaring chorus of assent?
But you know what? They’re right.
I can’t take it anymore. I’m sorry if I have to do this. I just can’t anymore. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
I truly want to die right now.
It’s so fucking easy for one person to ruin a family, one person who thinks they’re all holier than thou, someone who’s unaware of the damage they have caused, with the naïve mindset that they’re in the position to poke their noses in like a rabid bloodhound and fix other people’s shit. Because they think that by doing the right thing, they’re setting the cogwheels of the clock back in proper motion, when all they’ve actually done is to make a hurricane collide with hell. Yet likewise, it’s so hard to inform them of what their measly prim fucking actions have actually helped create, even though you just badly want to drop the entire fucking earth on their shoulders and let the pain and the burden simmer in on their consciences, to let them know what they’ve done, and hope to the stars until they lose light that it will kill them slowly, every single waking moment of their goddamned life.
It’s so easy to find out when something is truly broken, to know when all that whitewashed innocence and preambles of hope and faith and death high ambitions all chase the striped zebra and circle down the drain, all replaced by the honours of horror and perennial promises of suffering and calvary and hours of being fucked around like a perused machinery, and it’s so easy to realise just how fucked up your own family is, nothing but a bunch of underestimaters and underachievers trying to eat the other’s throats out and laughing when you break both your legs clambering up the stage. Yet it’s so hard to accept the costs and the heavy liabilities, the initial hard sting of the sullen vodka that kicks your balls and makes you keel to your chosen deity. And there’s a moment when you still wish you can revert back to the usual standards of being able to ignore just how fucking pathetic your bloodline is, because somehow, that’s a promise you can still attest your flogged wrists to.
And after all that’s come and gone, it’s so especially easy to play the role of the family disappointment and succumb to the promising embrace of death. Leave it to the kings and minstrels to rejoice at your loss, to hold parades and sigh in relief like the sick twisted bastards that they are, because after all that’s come and gone, nothing can truly be the same, and truly it will be easier for you to just fucking up and leave. After all, what’s the easiest thing to do in life but die.
Forcing me upon monkey suits and contriving me to entertain
I try to say so otherwise but my complaints are all in vain
They shoot guns at my feet, to make me do a silly dance
Threaten me with scarlet tomatoes to ensure absolutely no defiance
Dignity for decadence, ego for fifteen minutes of fame
A couple tastes of crystal sugar for a supply of lifetime shame
Masks upon masks plastered crudely, thick makeup to hide my frown
Am I still a human being or just another rundown clown?
They say to take one for the team, they tell me I’m unfair
When they’re the one making me dangle my nobility on a strand of hair
I wish no more, this life of jests and pie and mockery thrown to my face
Next time you catch me, I’ll be walking slowly towards the end of my life race.
Not many are fully aware, but the known universe is mostly composed of dark matter and antimatter.
It is said that they make up about 95% of everything that occupies the vacuum of space.
And yet somehow, curiously, we humans always manage to pinpoint and view the 5% of it.
The 5% filled with endless arrays of astral bodies to observe,
The 5% blazing with light and utter radiance,
The 5% that opens up new possibilities and hope.
Because to us, it doesn’t matter how seemingly scant the light is,
So long as it’s still there.
And to us, the darkness is nothing else but another component
That makes the stars shine brighter
So that we could see them even better.
Where is your head?
Where is your head?
Stuck in some dream
Where no one is listening…
Take me away from the anarchy of my mind
Leave all sanity and atrophy behind
Release me from the sirens that drown my ears
Cease the riveting flow of my crystalline tears
And pray keep that toxic black potion out of my reach
I implore, set me free and let my tired heart sleep.
Weary, despair, trudge, toil, and slave
Negative words that relate to desperation
But it’s funny and quite sad how many people state
That it’s also synonymous to education.
The vision of my eyes seems to be faulty
Replacing the clear filter with shades of blue
Perhaps that’s why when I wake up I always see
That I’m always filled with gloom.
Despite all my rage
I am still just a rat in a cage
Then someone will say
What is lost can never be saved…
REALITY STAGE PLAY
Crafty pickpockets and sickly grey puppets
Thieving rats scuttling around the broken set
Lose your depleted wallet, cause a huge racket, try to defend
Get beaten up, the curtain drops, but the show never really ends.
Writing sweet letters to his dearest Charlotte
Never once discovering that she was a closet harlot
And whispering false promises in desperation to another John
Burning useless money for the company of anyone.
Her child cries wild, his stomach screaming of hunger
As she struggles to balance on the bridge they live under
Cradling him, saying promises, singing a lullaby to soothe
Even though the stars had already gone out in her universe.
Germs of society, no one is safe from harm
A ground full of bloated worms, a parasitic farm
Bacteria masticating away at the resources like a rabid pig
Eating at the core of the world in their frenzy of greed.
Living in a crimson world dominated by guns
Where the criminals are free and the innocents run
And all a child could do is attach butterfly wings to a bullet
A last-minute innocence before they get murdered by it.