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Some are Mad, More than Most
He sat there arms crossed
eyes glazed
five o'clock shaddow
looking sharp
staring at a TV
that couldn't help but paint the room
in an ominous blizzard
and a fuzzy crisp crackle,
his breathing bouncing
him up and down
like a yo-yo operated by
sullen little boys,
and always heavy sighs every
hundred inhales,
"The world is a lie
and we liars with it"
he said with whiskey
on every fermented word,
if this world is a lie
than what other truths
should I be living
in this ghost world,
what is,
is what should be,
anything else
is a whine,
sad little girls
unhappy boys
who grew up and realized
that if you don't work hard
you will work even harder
for the rest of your life,
Being rich is a swan song
we are all taught to sing
by the innoculated,
Those who are unsuccessful
sit arms crossed
painted in snow
bouncing like a yo-yo
saying blasphemies
against natural states
I won't have it
