I Be, Oh(Woe is Me)

Tar pit enveloped dreams fade away into black honeycomb crystallizations
I surrender to convenience as I am stretched into yet another conforming shape
I'd be better off dead, but I choke on the word
It seems I'm drowning in irony

I'm an extra piece in a dysfunctional puzzle
If I felt any smaller I might just disappear
Maybe I was born to die (as we all are)
When I crumble, will anyone be there to pick up the pieces?
Or will I just dissolve into the abstract
And sink into the next low in a continual barrage of dread highs

If it were that I be bloodied in my conquest to obtain equilibrium
Queried in reference to my perversion of happiness
Or tortured in my ploy to achieve existence
I might just quit