9.22.06.09.16.

9.22 and already I wisfully ponder death
Because it is preferable to being here
With this joke of a job
With this joke of a damned existence
With you
Day in, day fucking out.

I don't know how I survived past birth
Because I'm so fucking useless.
I don't know how I'm still breathing,
Because I'm stupid enough to forget how.
I either talk too much or too little,
I either take too much initiative
Or not enough,
But then, I'm never fucking enough am I?

You'd make the sun feel useless,
And the moon ugly,
You'd make the stars fall from the sky
Because you scorn what you cannot reach.
You'd accuse the blue skies of being too bright
And the grey-cloud storms of being too dull,
Because nothing can ever fucking win, can it?

But at least I, with my dim eyes, and my duller brain,
With my stuttering speech and halting tongue,
Can see the beauty around me.
At least I can be part of it,
At least I can feel joy.

The sun can light and cheer me,
I can can admire the stars and moon above.
I can bask in cornflower skies,
And dance in the bloody rain,
While you sit there sipping from
Your bitter fucking chalice.
Blind and pitiful,
Eyes ugly and hateful,
Always, every day.
Day in, day fucking out.