Untitled

All of my poems that were practice
All of the characters I've manufactured
All of the versions of me
That I could not conquer
And all of the nights I could not sleep
Here they can clash, and prosper
Here is a place they are not in vain, at all
Angels, I've danced with them and sang
Their hidden horns smirking with scorn
While I whither; I'm worn, I'm hurting
Dusk is dawn for the insomniac
Zombies are the masses, I react to this
How? I'm the necrophiliac by submission
Gold, glitter, poison, violence, women
I'm told they're the pleasures of this prison
I'm told that I'm bitter, yet koi, but really
I'm livid. Lonely and pessimistic
Inconsistent and irrational
Antisocial?
Yes, but what does that matter to you.
It doesn't so I digress, but forgive me
For all I know is distress
I'm told I'm miserable, that I'm blessed,
And I am, but I've reaped what I've sown
Oh my garden of gold
Bears no edible fruit, so I starve alone,
Still I hope that one day I can cope,
Without poison or violence,
With the things I cannot control.