My Decaying Pie

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slug says love your life
but I say hate it
life is a bowl of cheese, go ahead and grate it
shred it into itty bitty pieces
and use it as your thesis (and argue why you should get a new life)
you see my life is like a slice of pie
and from time to time I cut into it with large knives
I make a hole and a void there
i’m only a little messed up, don’t be scared
its because nights i’m left lonely and my thoughts are left bare
my falling is falling apart just like my hair
i’m a decaying wooden chair (bein’ eaten by them termites)
can you blame me for not loving life?





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