Poorly Conceived Thoughts

It is a safe bet the day is at an end,
the mommies and daddies scurry home
to microwave their dinner,
set their childrean in front of a screen
and rest up.
Just to take their express way back again.

The normal people just run back and forth and I'm stuck here,
just wherever here is.
I don't pretend to know myself or even you,
just know that I'm in love and it's just got to be enough
even when things aren't simply enough.

I get sick of playing the roles in life I always have.
Sometimes things work out great
and other times it never could have been worse.
There is nothing worse than meandering thoughts
that are fool of self preserved adoration.

I can run but it will never be fast enough.
I could just pretend but I will never be good enough.
This poetry is bad enough but just throwing it around like this,
it should be a crime.
I'm not sure what is worse,
talking about it with horrid attempts at internal rhyme
or just the thought of having to share my rooms again.

I'm much better at being a selfish and closed hearted prick.
If I don't even pretend to be nice then I will not be faulted for sin.

It would be nice to cry or maybe to try cutting myself open.
Peeling back these layers of self ridiculed doubt,
exposing tender flesh and to dare to push deeper.
Knowing my own selfishness
is my own demented guide.

At the end of the day I just have to conclude as I so often have:
It is selfish to say the world would have been better without me.
It hurts those who profess to love me.
But as selfish as it is to ever put ones happiness in front of the well being of others,
I must persist in denying the validity of my own existence.

I wish God played dice,
just so I could justify this thought.

If I could afford I would run.
Instead I am stuck here.
Medicated haze that is crashing even as I write.

Nothing makes sense anymore then it did the day before.
I keep hearing these noises of movement, inside my head and out there in the dark.

I'm not sure but I think I look forward to trying to placate myself with lust.
I mean, why not?
It isn't like my hypocrisy isn't the worlds worse secret.
I flagrantly flash my worse sins in exahnge for praise and adoration.
None of this could pretend to make sense in any form.

But I want sleep too.
I don't want to ramble all night while I'm becoming more scared by the moment.

No one will ask what needs to be asked.
But it is okay.
I'm used to it.
Otherwise I might have developed a few issues.