I believe it is my time to say
That I have seen better days.
A sky turned gray, reddened ocean,
And tears the color of gold.
Clichés have turned around life
And made suffering better than strife.
It is now that you come to me to say
That the lashing of life has left you desiring
Something a bit more wicked.
I can give you nothing, for nothing is what you are.
I desire the day I can tell you
Of how I conquered agony
With nothing more than cartoons and video games,
And the occasional writing of witless poetry
Derived from teenage angst and misery.
What have you done with your time?
Flirted with pimply faced egits,
Or were you working out in a gym for a future you will never have?
The only thing you now have to be confident about
Is that I will give you the benefit of the doubt.
You are something of a recyclable good but then,
I've realized something.
Sometimes when you recycle trash,
You just get more trash,
And I am left here alone, sitting here, talking to you,
Wondering what road I turned wrong at.