Sunday evening stoner
I can feel the bitter descent
Archaic expectation
Paying my bills kills my punk cred
A useless altercation
Seething, sweeping malevolence
Messes my conscious briefly
Then stumbles back in recess
Dangling, outskirting, choking on the imagery
I'm just waiting, I'm just hoping this will either get me high or end my life
Sinusoidal stagger
Picking flowers back to my room
A casual disaster
Capitalizing solitude
Try to relocate boredom
Without sounding too pretentious
Politely disregard my
fabricated condescension
Do you think I should go home
Or stay here
You can see it in my walk
It's so clear
Do you think I should go home
No fear (finally see the end)
Compacted habits an excuse
To blow smoke (for a pretty face)
Dangling, outskirting, soaking up the imagery
Indulging in symmetry, words cascade in an amateur state
Conveying the wrong meaning, circumvent the soft way
I'm just waiting, I'm just hoping this will either get me high or end my life