The Joke

Dark s**t from a place that I thought I'd escaped but which I seem to routinely return to.

As you reach the final rhyme of a story you've told a thousand times but realise the punchline has no punch and you're just reading lines from a script you scrawled the instant before you spewed it,

That's a theme in my life, see; the way that I do it is by always falling forward,

A jester-like display where lack of balance meets decay,

And I can't find my feet for long enough to keep the hounds at bay

So I'm forever chasing ecstasy and that's how I remain;

A pursuit that's bound to kill me seems the best and only way

To escape a dark existence where I stumble day to day like some sick chariacature of human life in the sketchbook of a god who created but didn't provide,

It only widens the divide between me and these humans, though I observe their movements like test subjects in a cage where i'm locked in by mistake,

And if the words I speak sound stupid they can always rearrange

To form coherence so you feel the depth of self-consuming rage,

So you feel the stinging absence of a reason to behave as though you ever felt love or care or connection or joy or hope,

Take another horoscope from the oracle of me;

I lack a reason to be,

And my eyes, tainted green, can't deny what they see when they contemplate people that I'll never be,

And it burns in my chest and it aches in my bones and my smoke-blasted lungs just won't leave me alone,

So don't take it to heart; I won't answer the phone,

To any and every measly concern my decaying mind can throw my way;

I could end this today and it might go away but I could resurrect just to suffer again,

As the strength of my will it continues to wane and I'm tired of playing all these f*****g games,

So leave this corpse in an unmarked grave so they can't see my face or remember my name.

Go away.