I'm smoking on a rainy night,

Is there a more perfect time for a smoke?

The rain drops go pitter, patter;

An onimonipetiac cliché.

I feel really empty, and I want to cry

But all I get is rain, and stinging eyes.

Wasn't too long ago, when I realized

That I was alone.

So I tried to render, and I tried to make,

Something that with no small amount of skill would take.

'Alas I am a charlatan too,

Dipping my fingers in water colours, and inks,

Spreading ghostly images of my incompetence.

Trailing flowers of my ego.

I used to think I was special, that there was some type of fire inside,

Just like mommy and daddy said. Well they fucking lied.

Meaning comes in excess, excess in moderation,

An existence of straddling every fence I find.

Like sweet prince Hamlet,

Driven to action through indecision.

Well I need some help; screw my head on right,

Someone to tell me I tried hard, and fought the good fight.

The ember glows, it burns and then dies,

Leaving only ash to brag of.

So much of my life is ash, sifting through my fingers,

Like lost ambition, and memories sweet only in remembrance.

Living for nothing, but others expectations,

I paint myself in ash, like a sex act from a whore.

There is no passion, only necessity.

I can't see past tomorrow.

So I blur my vision with rain drops, and call them tears,

And I say, though I fucking hurt now!

I got plans for further years!

Well I don't, I can't think of anything I want,

Except maybe something to want.

So much mechanical desire and I call it emotion,

Emotion is a joke.

So I take another draw, and wait for my head to spin,

Wouldn't it be expectant me for to use the rhyming word of sin?

Even the self is redundant.

Is it really my fault I live in a society where one is defined,

By survival, and the media?

Just looking for another tragedy.