my glass is running low
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well well sitting in hell
or so it seems. Tearing myself away at the seams
the boredom diverts me from my dreams.
I’ve been wondering in my head
for countless hours on end
sleepless on my bed waiting for morning to begin, again and again.
I have been sitting in front of this monitor in an awkward fashion
one leg falling into a needlelike comatose
My glass of water, depleting, trying to survive my endless struggle
A nocturnal haven for the thinker
in front of this resplendent screen.
I waste thru days and endure the night
wishing for the outside world, to chill and be a little extraverted.
I observe my straying away from any family encounters
With what little jiminy cricket I have left.
Irony. No type of metal about it, just the guilt of another wasted day
In the everyday life of me.

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fuck you and the bitch you fell from.
sorry.