This is not poetry

Varování: Následující obsah není hororovou fikcí. Je skutečně pravděpodobné, že existuje entita schopná publikovat sklepní verše takto pochybné úrovně. Nedoporučujeme osobám s nízkým prahem bolesti, lingvistům a rodilým mluvčím angličtiny. Děkujeme za pozornost.
Post Scriptum: Psáno s hudbou v hlavě.

Common matters

I really don't know
what will I wear the next day
Will I care the next day?
I don't hear what they say
On my fear they shall prey
I will find better way
On my mind there's a thing
It's a thought on a string
When you pull it like lever
Everything will get better
The war, the weather
But what does it matter
When the war does make money
It's funny how surely
You've done it, you've made it
How you've sketched it and shaded
The shape of the normal
Written down, signed a formal
letter to god
is he there or not?
Have you seen better future?
Cause the vultures will win
And they pulled us all in
So I observe your eyes
And the sparkle, it dies

3:48

Why, my, so pretty
in that pitch grey shirt
black shoes, black jeans,
black soul, you nerd
I can't even look up
'cause I know I'd have to smile
Edgy, edgy, edgy, edgy
Caught my eye for a while
Dead eyes, cute grin
Little heart full of sin
You're a mess, mess, dear
Fairly, nowhere near
to okay
they say you're a weirdo
and I hate them
'cause I know it
I've been through it
It's been exactly the same then
Good you seem above the things
j'existe, no scenes
alcohol, drugs, nihilism, bittersweet memes
...unfinished?