The Phobophobia Collection –  P is for Phobophobia

 

I’ve got 99 problems and my woman does not exist… so she ain’t one.
I’ve got 99 problems now my woman is gone.
I used to have one hundred problems
And only one that mattered;
But now the only thing I have got,
Is this feeling of feeling shattered.


I have dreamed of not having insomnia,
For what literally seems like forever.
I truly can’t be happy,
Rain or shine or any weather
And whatever the occasion I am down in the dumps;
Found this manic personality and man it sucks!


Oh look; I have met a beautiful woman.
Oh my!  She must be my true love!
She said hello!
Oh she must be the one!

But now she is talking to somebody else,
On her stupid phone…


Thank you life; I really taught myself a lesson,
To never even try to be happy,
I will never have a family,
So I’ll fetch myself some rope
And a broken pen
And a rose for my rose,
To remember me when…


I woke up depressed again…
I did not go to sleep this way.
I had an amazing nightmare last night,
But all memory of it has gone away…


Half way through a conversation,
Or when I pass through a threshold,
I sneeze like I have a cold,
But I am not ill, or so I have been told.
Where are my keys?
What was I talking about?
What the Hell!?
Where was I going?
Did I put the food in the oven?
Or did I leave it out?
Did I lock the door?
I will check once more,
Then I will check it again and again
And again to be sure.


They say I mask my sadness,
With my pathetic attempt at what I call humour;
But I refuse to listen!
And laugh like a mad man,
As they spread their vicious rumours,
About…my precious!


If I had an imaginary friend,
I guess that she would have to be a Princess,
For she could only ever exist, inside my head
And she would eventually leave, because I am so very boring.
I have no desire to speak to men,
Because their conversations only leave me snoring.


Why do you look so les miserables?
I was born this way!
I have apathy to faking smiles;
Get out of my way!
I have to leave this planet,
There are far too many people.
There is a call for you…
I don’t want to speak, I can’t take the trouble.
I foresee a future and it will only be evil,
Asking “How the Devil are you today?”
I sarcastically reply, oh yeah…I am great!  
With no smile on my face
And my dark empty eyes…
How I hate human beings…
Donnie Darko had it right.


Send me a new broken engine,
So I don’t have to speak to them again…
But…I want to be your friend…
Well I want to get to the dead end…
But I want to be your girlfriend…
Believe me you are all better off if I am dead;
Rather that, than have to deal with me and my lack of empathy.
So much empathy!  
It is killing me!
Hannibal Lector’s got nothing on me…


I guess I had better stop writing this truth,
For I don’t want you to see my ugly face or my mania.
My body’s dysmorphic disorder is no stranger than I am;
But there is one in the mirror.
Who is that arrogant, narcissistic man?
I will self-diagnose…but I will not type into Google ‘Thanks’.


The past is still the present
And I guess I am agnostic when it suits me,
But I want to go Heaven!
I don’t believe a thing
And I am sick to death of my repeated reincarnations.


My entire existence is flat-lining;
So worthless, like everything,
And I feel so tired, like, all of the time
And I can’t even rhyme,
So I repeat the same lies.
So tell me what is the point?
There clearly is no point…


Stop writing this garbage,
Nobody wants to read it.
I don’t even want to have to write it,
But I am enslaved and completely compelled…

I guess in a while,
I will reach the finish…

Oh my God…
What is this fresh Hell?


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