FEAR: Being Boring & Dying Alone

I can’t smoke your weed
 My ego won’t let me.
 You’ve never had to compensate for anything real.
 You’re so bland and beautiful.
 I want the real thing
 No more smoke screens
 You’re trying to smash a spider with a sledgehammer.
 A life of chaos sounds reasonable.
 I grew up staring at a million random dots
 Trying to find meaning in my ceiling
 You write another obtuse song on guitar like it’s Mozart.
 Like it’s unique, like it’s not awful.
 I’ll grow a ‘stache
 And admire your style
 You didn’t ask for my ego or your brain.
 As you bravely face this excruciating existential pain.
 Life is simple, Life is easy
 If we want it to be
 There’s never an end to your important convos.
 It becomes the worst of me.
 We feel something in each moment
 So life is not a torment
 You sing that song to torture me.
 Or you’re creating things in my head — -happens quite frequently.
 I wear my family on my sleeve.
 I have a memory that won’t recede.
 What if I just passed away,
 no memory left of the life I’ve laid?

Originally published at AwesomeImAustin.com.

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