Imprecarilament

Of Anti-Threnody

It's all okay
we, made our way.
         (useless nothing,
         godless manthing.)

Music, I heard
A loud silence
Of a cooing bird,
Something I missed
In all these years.
Tired Years! Wasted Years!
Contemptible!
Misery!
My ears were dead
My mind was read,
but I can now, live
or even prosper.
Will you? or,
are you the man-child
I slowly grew
to despise?
I knew this would happen
I would leave with shut eyes,
But I hoped you would leave too,
and not just sit there and screw.
I don't like you
anymore, but that's
far in the past
I wish I could save you,
but, alas,
alas,
alas.

Often I am a useless nothing,
and often I write about it, but,
you, you really don't know it!
You really think the music will save you?
You really think the pixels will fill you?
Goddammit! You worthless pothead!
But faith, cannot be force-fed. 
I wish I could pity you, but
I
        never
                          knew
                                            you,
as such, this poem,
is, for no one