Show Business

Last night they got to talking about show business.
The lump in my throat bobbed as I tried to drain a tallboy
and avoid participation in this animated conversation.
I heard numbers and big plans get tossed around with logos and stickers.
There was some rambling talk about “getting it into the right hands”.
Before anybody could ask me what I thought about the matter
I excused myself to go down the hall to the bathroom and vomit.
I hate show business. I want no part of it.
One of these days, I know it’s coming:
I’ll have to excuse myself to leave the room
and never come back.
I hate show business.
I want no part of it.

Cheer Up

Cheer up.
I wish I could.
Nothing pisses off people
more than a whiny white bastard
who’s got it so good
yet finds himself so miserable.
Cheer up.
I wish I could
but with each passing day
it becomes clearer to me
that everything is the same
as it was in high school.
Time does not pass
and things never change.
Cheer up.
I wish I could.

I Am My Own Prison

I am an incompetent idiot,
a creatively bankrupt,
charismatically challenged,
amateur adult.
I am an unproductive citizen
who despises the accident of his birth.
I am a natural born follower,
mute in the presence of my betters
who outnumber me.
I am a disease,
existing in constant fear
of discovery and remedy.
I am a ventriloquist’s dummy,
propped up by hatred,
animated by jealousy,
voiced with self loathing.
I am my own prison.