"Serial Depression"

"Serial Depression"

Sometimes I feel like nothing but a washed up hunk of meat.

Somewhat appealing to the eye, but nothing too great.

I'm too generic for all of those artists.

I'll never amount to anything whether I be a Rembrandt or a Warhol.

I'll never be a Barbie that every girl wants to be.

I'll be nothing but a rag doll that any tramp ends up being.

All washed up and done,

I'll stumble on some old bones and ashes of my ancient past,

Locking myself back up inside my closet where I belong.

You can leave flowers and treats,

But I'll never get up off of my a*s,

Because I'm just a drunk lazy lass.

Don't wait up for me,

For my sands of time have run out and disappeared.

Holy, holy love.

Oh, how I've searched for you.

You never came,

Shame on you.

I'm going back to jail,

Without bail...

Written by Zoe Anne