In private, you may open the bottle

The everyday cliche,  
Routine depression,    
And the glamorization of misery
The monotony of all too often,    
Where nothing changes,    
In public be upstanding
You must pretend in loathing to worship the moment,    
No matter how bitterly slow it seems
And overlook the wasted time,    
As it builds up in frustrated memories called regret
Regret those happy lies,    
But don't stop proliferating them
It must always be okay at the surface,    
The shallow veil of joy you'll wear
And polite obfuscation will be the key,    
To your cage of decorum
In company you must talk amicably,    
And acknowledge them as humans like yourself
Avoid confrontation, smile and nod through disgust,    
It is easiest that way for all involved
In private you may open the bottle,    
Whether you smash it off the wall
Or yourself in it's place,    
Revenge metered by solitude
Scorn held captivated,    Sit and fester, rot and stew
the seething comes in erratic bursts,    
Waves of repressed anger
Bubbling up like a fucking geyser,    
To burst through this cultivated exterior
Here is how I am ,    Here is how it feels,  
This is the madness I succumb to
The depressive psychosis,    
Suicidal tunnel vision
The conscious lapses and lengthy day dreams,    The fatigue
Constant fatigue and exhaustion,    
All the conversations I carry on when you're gone
All your words I'm still hearing,    
The sentences still reciting
A chorus of unwanted human noise,    
Permanently echoing in my mental space
clouding absolutely everything,    
The effluence of wasted breath
And the tedium of herd small talks,    
Routines, jobs, dinners, foods, smokes, gossip
Traffic, clothes, times, days, dates, he saids and she saids,    
And all the rest of the petty human trivia that comes with it
The constant buzzing irritation of the all too common,    
As if clocks weren't enough of a reminder
How little we do with time ,    
and how much of it we fill with mind numbing frivolity
It all seems so.. essential, so essential it aught never be mentioned
As if there really were no magic, no wonder, no desire or dreams left
Humanity as a tired consumer
Wanting nothing but satiation
Comfort and ease
The loss of dreams is my nightmare
And this world is a waking hell
The mundane invert all hope for something more
Nothing transcendent
Just a slow decadent rot
A procession of the enslaved
But in public
You must be the same
You must not hate man for what he is
You must not hate yourself (how could you not hate yourself)
You must not hate your soul (how could you not hate your soul)

(Apologies for the lack of proper grammar throughout, latest things are transcribed from on the spot rants taken from vocal recordings.. I trust most of you can read as you see fit, many thanks.. not.. not that anyone's reading this, probably a good thing)