I wake up every morning,
Nauseous and knowing
Of a badgering that goes rogue in my head.
While the path up ahead,
Twists and twines
Every logic I have in my tread.

I falter my way
With the image of a day,
That can’t seem to forget the night,
For the night was a drudgery,
The demise of the snuggery,
Wish I had never seen the light.

That bothering hum
Is so troublesome,
That I often forget
I have a life.
I don’t lead one then,
But many at once,
Pricking them up with a knife.

Why do we often,
Let it play with our coffin,
And place it on top of our card?
It is one of those million things
That can’t be forgotten,
Although it makes our living hard.

Then we let it steer us,
While we sit all anxious,
Next to the driver of our car,
Wondering when will it all,
Come to a sudden halt,
And take us back to our star.

And I offend myself
With the absence of things,
How absent of me to be present?
As my soul points fingers
To a mind that lingers,
To those who have lost my consent.

Then a big chunk of me
Weeps in the corner,
For someone stares into its eyes,
And I have nothing on me
To hold against people,
All I have are stupid little lies.