Felo-de-se

Who can surcease my pitiful sorrow  
Before the mourning of tomorrow  
 
I envy those who  
Can dissever themselves  
From the grip of beguiling things  
 
The austere disposition of the world  
Permeates my absinthe colored soul  
The connotation of my name  
Now seems synonomous with morbidity and depression  
 
I can't imagine a life  
Without all this fucking turmoil  
The conniptions in my life  
Are for sure deserved  
 
Why don't I just end my pathetic life  
I'll do it with grace and decorum  
Slitting wrists is so cliché  
 
I'll be another number  
Just a fucking statistic  
I'll be lost in the chaos  
I feel so goddamn apocalyptic  
 
I'll tear my skin from ear to ear  
My glasgow smile will be disturbing  
But I'll be happy, and everyone will see  
Death just seems to be  
My cup of tea