A masterpiece depicting tragedy, I’ll hang it on my wall like a tapestry,
Turned agony into a parody, arrogantly lacking any required apathy.
It’s sad to see, black lights, reveal satin sheets stretched to capacity.
Depths of my insanity, a thick scent like mass graves after calamity.
Being alone by force of habit; an exit strategy when you’re lost in place.
So when you’re locked away you treat all company like toxic waste.
Social interactions render a catatonic state, anxiety is the common phrase.
No decorations for the holidays, unless you count rolls of caution tape.
These shockwaves create repellants like every path will show an L.
Bravery is how you expose yourself, so act cowardly before you go to hell.
I don’t mean to overwhelm, but this motel is worse than a holding cell…
AND I know it well, I thought visitors would be put off by the rodent smell.
I’m not content until opponents fail, their misery is a conversation piece.
A blue-collar wasteland, I can develop nausea if I watch it anxiously.
What phases me is the wasted dream and the constant stage of grief.
Often aim to please, it’s like choosing distress when I’m dodging pain relief.
I get treated like dirt by society, you wonder why I keep a cluttered house?
Like I should let these intruders run afoul while I stay hidden underground.
Because these days I consider it a home invasion when family comes around.
I always looked below the surface when my world is already upside down.
My body count will force a shutdown, they drop and create a dust cloud.
The dirt is my suboxone, cleanliness makes matters worse if I’m strung out.
I’m hiding from the sea of doubters’ a joke that’s heckled by this tough crowd,
Enough rat poison to dumbfound, somehow they stuck around like a bloodhound.
I recycled this schedule, a recurring pattern’ there was only a select few,
Of the entitled next to you, only one of them lifted a finger to rescue,
The others? let their dog get loose’ and lick open every fresh wound.
The saving grace is beneath hell, this cesspool gives me the headroom.
You’re that rich know it all, holding a briefcase because they gave you a million.
Me the cheapskate, a cheap date for “angels” that think that angles appealing
If there was an options menu, preferential treatment would have came to an ending.
My success? Label it pending, watching them fail helps me
break through the ceiling.