morning is mocking me

these places, these faces, these stages
these actors, these actresses, these whores
and all the people obsessed with horoscopes
have me concerned that it's me, it's me
who can't cope with the life we're living.
i'm embarassed easily, scared off from breathing
when hookers smile more often than i can.
my dreams they ain't what they have been-
no, as of late they're filled with dancing
people who are doing nothing but laughing
and enjoying each others company, a poison
of relating and mutual appreciation.
goddamn it's so odd that i find this revolting.
do you think i should seek some sort of revelation
before i go on a tangent of drug abuse and drinking?
dine out with a female that has me yearning
for something other than my obsession with wanting?
got this odd sense of insecurity with my writing
as if it is i who is uncapable of believing
in faith, in god, in love, in beautiful unison
of connecting with a group of people sharing
similiar beliefs, similiar ideas, co-hoping
that this is all just made up, just fiction
and soon it'll end, soon we'll wake up again
in one anothers arms, praying that this ain't happening
is useless now, i know that this is the end-
my breath is slowing, my heart isn't beathing.
i just can't find anymore reasons
to why i should share my life with anyone.