I rhyme write tight

[dull boy]

Poor. Mattress on the floor. Cabinets adorned with absences of more. Patio is warped. In trouble with the courts. Addicted to porn. Bills I can't afford. Furniture is torn. Feel like I'm at war. Interactions I keep short. Conversations mostly forced. Friendships; I don't forge. Pretending I'm adored just get me through the storms battering my shores. Saddened at the core. Know I'm mad, but can't ignore what's happened, that's remorse. What's happened? I've divorced happiness as normal. Mom is a ghost. No one close to the mom that I'd known, but know that happens, and know it's crappy I won't ever have her a home to have as her own. She lives unhappily, goes... up to her room as soon as she's back from her drone... job, people half of her own age have. She's alone. Watches TV and laughs at the shows. Just a way she can zone out cold and not have to be old. Contemplates death. Imagine your mom who hates breath. Your dad in graves, dead. No family left. It's just you. It's not game, there's no rules. No one to say what it can't or can't do. Life just gets cruel. We deny reality to block it from view. You feel lost in the groove. Just walking it through. Wanna climb in coffins and snooze. Pretend it doesn't matter, get all confident, cute. Pretend it's all just nonsense, it's cool. It's not. And at night when you watch the time on the clock and the lights are all off you see your life and you stop lying to block what's inside and what's not, what's hiding in God. You start to cry and you sob. Next morning you act just fine at your job. You go through the strides and you walk but you're not alive, you're just lost. Your latch onto people to give you a reason to live. That responsibility is a big and they can't possibly lift. You love them, call them your kids. Then one day they're just gone, and you wish you could do all of it again.