There's nothing so sad
As the gift of life given bad
Or better yet received
Looked at
And then trashed
(no I don't mean suicide)
Akin to a blaze being only used to warm hands
A bird that only flies to please its fans
A child made to sit, stare, and watch, while others dance
Dead lives
Animated and hated
With no spark let alone fire
With no passion or style
Only train tracks leading back
And a strong penchant for empty smiles
Kind of
You to let me borrow your shoes
I guess we barely need them
With all the walking that we won’t do
Kind of
Me to watch you climb your own tree
Well, less tree than social ladder
Less birds than civilians that won’t sing
Kind of
Like a phrase that really means no
Half measures or half pleasures
Best forgotten for the long road
Because I kind of like my job
I kind of like this town
I kind of like relationships and fucking other clowns
I kind of want to write
I kind of want to die
I kind of want to see other people live better lives
I kind of feel inside
Like a spoiling dish once prized
But now a lost flavor
Microwaved too many times
I kind of have dreams
I used to love me
I struggle to consider what is clean
Cause you know there’s nothing so sad
As the gift of life given back
Or better yet grieved
Brief
And then forgotten in flash
(No I don’t mean by the general public)
Akin to a hard throw of an object without weight
A total lack of desire in interacting with fate
An acceptance of paths that lots of others take
Trudging in ruts specially fitted to an undead gait
Dead lives