This painful worls is destroying the value of good angst.
I've never seen the great minds of my generation,
My head is in the sand, under water, under no control.
I don't belong in youth culture,
I sticked up my skin from the flesh of dead teens but I'm still not one of them.
It's so screwed up that I have to feel pain in order to even fell,
Its so screwed up that I have to fell pain in order to create art.
Its so FUCKED that I'm really complaining about this, cuz this dreary shit I created myself,
I am my own wrong doing,
My own germ,
The necessary evil needed in order to keep going, to keep on writing and scribbling and drooling way like a big baby.
This original thought has turned into this ghastly cliche.
This has turned mediocre like everything else,
This peeling flesh is now rotting skin
and even Frankenstein is more beautiful then me.
Burn me at the stae, at the cross, shove pitchforks into my thraot and bury me twenty feet underground,
Where God won't even touch me,
Bury me in my own self-appointed grac,
And I'm just so stuid,
How about you?