crackhead soups and 40's

it's never easy
it's never like it is on tv
i sware these judges don't wear pants
it's a stereotypical stick up
and the hero is just someone who gets people killed
with these hollow bones you'd think i could fly
but i'm grounded
to my 1 bedrooom apartment with dead flowers and memories of a life once loved
possibly a dream not a memory
i'm sharpening my teeth and nails in preperation for the reckoning
biting my arm because it seems to taste better then ramen noodles and hotdogs
should just continue to drink my dinner
if a static position is non moving then why does the television slamdance black and white when i spent all my money on whiskey and whores instead of paying the bill?
put my questions to rest
real estate is the most lucrative commodity just so we have somewhere to bury our bodies
i'm  constantly on hold with the suicide hotline, apparently they have quite the caseload
i quit my job because i'm sick of locked doors and boxes
my shadow does'nt even hang out with me anymore
or maybe we are one and the same
i hope to be killed by a celebratory bullet fired into the sky upon it's return