I Am A Lyric

This is bad.

Wrong.

The year has taken me away.

From the man I used to be.

I have lost myself.

A millennium clich?.

And nothing helps.

Not even poetry.

Or my supposed glamorous job.

I hate myself.

Melancholy strikes like fork lighting.

Everything aches.

I used to be happy with myself.

Possibly way back then.

Possibly, possibly, possibly.

Bad news comes in threes.

They say.

Lost buses.

Maybe it was her.

I don't think so.

She got better.

My ego has beaten me.

In all honestly.

What is that?

That word.

Honestly.

I live a life chained to the mirror and the razor blade.

I am a lyric.

Cocaine rules me.

I don't want to die.

But sometimes at 4am.

After the strangers have gone.

I feel my options are limited.

Do I still have something to offer?

Please tell me I have.

Please.