|
Lifestyles of the Lame and Fameless(I despise good charlotte by the way)
You’re a petrified piece of wood,
In a feral forest of fallen trees,
And you’ve grown fragile from age,
And blackened through the years.
Your remains are scattered on the ground,
Amongst the discarded hearts still beating,
And true loves you claimed to have found.
Second thoughts and forget-me-nots.
Accusations and withheld doubts.
You always were kind of paranoid.
You are redundant as suicide
In the death bed of a cancer patient,
And duller than the waxy tiles,
That this hospital bed rests on.
Is that the light or is that your eyes
That are piercing me with my name?
It’s just a lost SOS call
Cause this ship is sinking.
Men overboard swimming for freedom,
Cause survival has become so scene.
Stranded on this island,
Of vividly remembered dreams.
Every dream has a wormhole,
That you chance getting sucked in,
It’s a winding unpaved road that leads
To a warped sense of reality.
It dead ends into realization,
Right next door to the crematorium.
This whole town radiates ignorance,
Like the soccer mom hemorrhaging
Over the warmth of her biggie fries,
Soft drink size and nutrition label lies.
If love is like the cigarette you smoke,
Then I’m sick of damp shorts,
Sucking on filter and this hacking choke.
We forgot to ash ourselves
And reveal this glowing ember,
That lies within the both of us.
I guess we’re chain smokers to the core,
Armed with white lighters and nothing more.
Flick that cigarette to oblivion,
Along with the memories you see me in.
This is the last time I let you
Promise like a pinky and flake like a leper.
And this is the first time you’ll never
Have words for me to decipher.
A Morse code message with,
The pattern of my skipping heart,
The words secretly encoded
To mask your insecurities.
Lets lie to one another some more,
And call each other honesty,
Piss away our youth at minimum wage slavery,
And call it going somewhere.
You’re so inconceivably believable,
Predictability is killing us one moment at a time,
But the crime is in knowing we’re marching
To our pre-planned funerals with
Blank faces, casual strides and glass eyes.
We are the nowhere generation,
The contents of our own wallets,
With hidden respect to the social ladder.
It’s crowded and falling over,
But the only thing that matters,
Is which rung you’re standing on.
The beauty is in realizing,
This ladder is horizontal.
We are the dime a dozen,
Discount bin sellouts,
Seeking refunds for broken hearts.
Find refuge in the collapse
Of this house of falling cards,
This junkyard of miscellaneous parts,
Overused melodramatic one hit wonders.
Ponder the idea that we are only safe
Near the things that fill us with the hate,
That manifests our cliché actions.
With all the room for a let down,
We shouldn’t be cramped anymore.
Well this isn’t what I call living,
This is a whole species strolling to their graves,
With smiles on their faces and empty spaces
Where their hearts used to be,
Before being torn out at birth.
So from that vacant spot in my chest,
I speak false words and praise the idea
Of striving to be my best.
This yellow brick road just ended
At a cliff with a bottomless pit.
I’ll keep walking, it won’t hurt a bit.
I want an crit from honest people so that's why I put this here.
|