physically, socially, and sexually inept,
my post-ironic tendencies are just flaws I won’t accept.
my unemployment saves me the embarrassment of getting canned.
i spend my fridays listening to 90’s midwest emo bands.
one hand in a pringles can, the other in my cotton pants,
laughing at political cartoons that I don’t understand.
perverted and desensitized, unable to close my eyes
when I’m turning over pointless bullshit in my scattered mind.
disgusted by normality, affection and morality.
optimism, happy teens, all make me wanna fucking scream.
disagreeing with myself, indecisiveness is hell,
over-analytic nights I spend further closing my shell.
i’m cynical and skeptical, my frame; extraterrestrial.
hard to say I’m conscious, I live like a fucking vegetable.
i'm bed-ridden and closeted, apathetic, self-absorbed,
whining about my problems to starving children I ignore.
i think that everyone who says they like me is actually just
fetishizing the concept of me for shallow self-interest.
looking forward to then falling asleep at friend's receptions,
rehearsing conversations in my head that never will happen.
my life will be the death of me, lack of drive especially,
relating to my future, unambitious, hopeless legacy.
somehow simultaneously I absolutely hate myself
but still think that I'm in every way better than everyone else.