I put pen to paper to make plans for tomorrow,
As the hopes of yesterday wither and die,
And I look in the mirror at the ghosts that surround me,
Sculptured in the effigy of your lies.
Inhaling the vapor of my very last cigarette,
And I let my thoughts swirl around with the smoke,
To evaporate in the warm depth of a whiskey glass,
As I drown in the nausea, as the butt of your joke.
I crawl from the blankets of an unmade mattress,
In my early morning pilgrimage to the fridge for a beer,
Through a gauntlet of shadows that shout out their apathy,
No sympathy given to allay my fears.
Wrapped up in the safety of another drunken stupor,
Numbed by the pain of another shattered dream,
You're the hardest addiction I've ever had to break,
An allusion to all that I can't redeem.
So why don't you shake my cradle with your scorn,
And rock me to sleep for the rest of time,
Help me find my God among my shuffling memories,
Then I can be the anecdote to your lies.