How to Live With Trickery

When the sun forgot to shine
And laughter called in sick
Sarcasm kissed my hand
And told me there's no trick
The fire burned so bright
As I ran to the unlocked door
Open for all to see inside
You held me as I fell to the floor

My pen is out of ink
My body is out of blood
As it drained from your eyes
The room began to flood
It's a trick, it's a trick!
I knew it all along!
Wishful thinking never saved me
You were already gone!

But somewhere deep inside me
Gleams a hopeful light
Something I'll soon tap into
And on broken wings take flight
My calloused heart will defend against
Such hatred, sharp as a knife
And the shadows once looked over
Will be brought to life


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This is how each day goes:

Waking up - "Oh god oh god oh god. Seriously? Is this seriously what I'm going to think about every morning?"

First hour I am awake - "This is just awful. Is my whole day going to be like this? I hope I figure something out. Maybe I'll try optimism."

Next few hours - "This optimism isn't working out so well. Maybe I will be rescued. Maybe I will try lots and lots of distractions. I can pretend like nothing is bothering me. Hmm, I know, I'll focus on everything that isn't right now."

Most likely I will get rescued - "Well this is mostly fun. It is hard to stay distracted. But now I'd like to have something a little more lasting. I know, maybe I'll be not sober!"

But I have to go home - "Son of a bitch. Now I am here and I am lonely and I am stuck with my unhappiness and regrets and failed attempts. Awesome."

I probably get a little distracted though - "Well, Conan O'Brien is rather funny. Also, talking to people about things is nice. Uh oh..."

But it didn't last - "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. You have got to be kidding me. Every night? Seriously? Why do I even bother trying anymore."

So I go to sleep, or at least, I try (probably) - cue either bad dreams or dreams that give me fleeting optimism.


So every fucking day is the same. Every single one. I am not sure how many more days like this I can handle. It is not so simple. I don't know why I am still trying. I try to be loyal. I try to be honest. I try to do the right things. I try to be strong. So why do my days end up like this? There must be something I am doing wrong. I am trying to figure it out. I'm a good person, right? I certainly do not think I am a BAD person, necessarily. I mean, yea...I'm human. I do what I can.


At any rate, that poem was written in like, sixth or seventh grade. So whatever. I wanted to write something original but I just lost all ambition. It is frustrating to know that there is this power to make everything perfect, and that that power has no idea.