Familiar Territory

A sense, brink of fear, failure
A keen irony of perpetual self-made hell
Slipping on intentional emotional spills
Losing hope for everything

A blocked artery of talent
Beaten mess inside the head
No life left for self-compliment
Hating being the idiot in me

A billboard blue hell sky
Watery pages of confessional insult
Wasted time ink therapy
Losing it all at once right now

Smaller security never comforted
Last chance pity recognition spill
Left to rot, early grave, pathetic life
No way out, no play left to conjure, decided