Frustrated

Annoyed that people have things to do.

This is in effort of self-relief.

Wait, doesn't sound right, I mean, self-effort relief.

What does that mean?

Stupid bloody Friday,
Don't you know that it's my day,
I'd like to be the Eggman for a change,
I know it sounds pretty strange,
But one thing that I'm not,
Is coherent, and that is one fact that I'm adherent to,
But there is a time that I once existed as, but now forgot,
Who has the bell,
Sitting in the well,
The shoerack smell, it's could be somebody's death knell,
Channel for the outlet,
Sitting in the gutter,
Flossing in the mirror,
Pupils dialate,
People violate,
Desire ensnares,
Madness begins,
KFC - let's dig in,
I'm not a vegan,
Not one of those shenanigans,
Jooba jooba hijiku hijiku,
No more quiet time for me,
All is noise,
Where is the voice,
Where is the sanity,
Oh so pretty,
Look at her,
Walking down the street,
She's so pretty,
Look at her,
Walking down the street,
He's so middling,
And so keen on fiddling,
With anything,
And everything,
That moves,
He can't help himself,
He deserves no less,
No more,
But not as much as he deserved,
Before,
Every line ends in a comma,
What if she's not 'welcomma.
Intruder, he misunderstood her.
Not his fault,
That's how he's been built,
Filled with guilt,
And remorse,
That plagues his feet,
They begin to swell,
Flint, bone and shrapnel,
Digging into his skin,
Oh my! haven't I sinned,
Before,
Tired but I just can't sleep,
I'm so stoned,
Not really, it's just the hormones,
Please, can't I sleep,
Why the commas,
Are they 'welcomma,
What has changed since the beginning,
What has changed since the beginning,
Look at them as they appear out of nowhere,
Quickly, sickly,
Apparently, no form,
Of their own sweet whim,
So proper,
And they swim,
In,
They are what they are,
Oh look at her! walking down the street,
He can't keep to himself,
But how to establish something that exist,
There's nothing to build on,
Except the knowledge that there's nothing to build on,
Why do we build these castles in the air,
Is life fair,
Have you been to the fair, free from cares,
Aren't you a pretty one,
Where are the commas,
Coming from,
Are you sure they're a 'welcomma,
Books, looks, boldy shook,
And they shook all night,
'Neath the burning light,
Of nothingness and solitude,
Of confusedness and gratitude,
Why do these things have to rhyme,
Why do they have to reason,
Themselves out,
Must there be no doubt.
Must there be meaning,
Behind these things,
That express thoughts that flow in a torretful stream,
I regret that the Being Supreme,
Pours into a hollow,
At the top of my head,
There's a bucket of lead, (liquidly and heatedly)
By my legs,
It does beg, desperately, pleadingly beg,
To be released from it's captiveness,
And fulfill it's purpose,
Whatever that may be,
It knows,
Purpose, that is what everyday is about,
Purpose, is the beginning,
And the end,
Of everything that pretends,
To be about something else,
Besides this,
Purpose,
It begins and ends here,
But I do not know what I must do once it has been done,
Mere existence seems shallow and pretentious like her walking down the street,
And he hoping for something that doesn't exist,
It all seems so silly,
Willy nilly,
And Billy the shepherd,
He has purpose,
To herd the flock,
Show them their way home,
They have a purpose too,
You know,
I know,
I'm begging you to stop being so silly,
It does not do you good,
As it should,
Get some air,
It's only fair,
You've been cooped up in this place too long.
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