Half A Poet

HALF A POET
(Oscillate Mildly)
sneak

I am passionately wretched,
I do depression with great flair.
You cannot know the joy of pleasure -
unless you've dabbled in despair.
I mourn with growing fascination -
over fabricated woes,
as I sink without a ripple -
beneath a sea of troubled prose.
I often flounder in the presence -
of the tragically elite.
I will pen my deep frustration -
as I solemnly compete,
to be the master of disaster,
the king of fatal misery.
Hanging on to every word -
in the name of Morrissey...

My girlfriend maybe in a coma,
last night I dreamt that she loved me.
Meat is murder on the waistline,
and that joke is not funny.
And heaven knows I am unhappy,
but what difference does that make?
I started something I can't finish.
This charming man is just a fake.