Purple Poker

Because when he breaks in and starts hacking you up with his machete, your screams will wake me up, and then I'll be able to escape.

I'm satisfied,
with my life.

I don't have the sick and twisted problems,
but there's a lack of something,
as if I could only be who I am
when I wasn't happy.

Lyrics came and went through my head,
like blood pumping.

And once more,
and maybe forever,
I will be empty,
silent,
shuttered and dank,
without passion and without dreams.

Will I go on like this?
I'm I good at being depressed?
Does that make me a better person?

and am I going to change just because
I can't write like before,
or nothing cool comes out of my head,

No.
That's retarded.

Do you think I'm happy about it,
not having my books filled with words,

Now,
if you can do what I used to,
on a daily,
no, on a regular basis,
then tell me what you think.

I'm trying.