Wishing.

I want to write a poem,

But I'm not at my creative apex.

I feel like talkin' 'bout milk and cookies

And pranks calls and tv and sex.

I really really love that guy who died last week,

I can't think of his name,

But being me, I'm sure I'll think of his name when I don't need to speak.

 

People always say there's things about the world we should watch,

But mention the sick, and suddenly our feet are all in cement blocks.

 

I got a letter today.

But I did not read it.

It was from my Dad, but I ain't talkin' to him, 'cause he's dumb.

Instead, I'm going to burn it.

Someone said, "hi" to me today,

And yesterday, I said, "hello"

I don't remember the rest of the conversation. Anyway...

 

People always say there's a reason for everything,

But they are way too naive. Why believe anything?

 

Those flowers that you gave me,

Well, I'm alergic to them.

Do you know where they are?

Stuck to the pavement covered in s**t and phlem.

I thought I could be positive, and trust in God,

And all that s**t.

But I ain't got time for that.

I ain't got time for it.

 

I'm too busy being bored, writing poems, texting friends, and wishing I was not a virgin.

Life is nothing but a hopeless stretch of pain and war and sweat and waste and piss, more pain, and purgin'.

 

I hate the world,

And I wish could see

Who's gonna kill me.

I wish I did know

Where I'm going to go.

I wish I was not,

The way I've suddenly got-ten.

My home is here in

This hotel room,

And I'm never happenin'.

Throw me a broom, I'll help the rest of you.