Cold Feet Like SuperTramp

I contradict myself twenty four seven. My mind is a constant battle field. It's like a chess board, and I am constantly strategically finding ways to check mate myself. I try connecting with people, but in all reality the truth is that people are worth s**t. They are so selfishly involved all they do is f**k you over, kick you in the shins, spit in your eye and leave you on the side of the road. All the while they have gotten you to pay for the bill. We are all on one track to come out on top, and no one is taking the time to really look at the others that are behind or right along with them. Only thing that is in their sights is the end prize and the people ahead of them, with envy and jealously. I am the odd/unfortunate ones that sit like roadkill on the side of the road just begging for my thoughts and words to be poetically justified. How lame is that? A romantic cynic in the world, god help me. The ultimate truth that it all comes down to is that nothing will ever be poetic, because everything and anything has already been done and said. The circle of life is no f*****g joke. None of it is original. It has been done and said before. No one has original thought processes anymore. Someone yesterday had this exact thought, hopefully their coffee wasn't this terrible.