Eggy Awaitening

What is it that's wrong with you today?
It's your lack of creativity.
Walking through rooms of soap smelling of bacon grease,
barely invisible, blunted emerald green injealousy,
writing lyrics not fit for Indie,
lacking such creativity.

Seeking ideas above possibility,
Potential is reduced to invalidity,
Less than rocking is such poetry,
Such higher good means not much to me.

You're shit, you're lazy, you're useless, you have more fun with hedonism, hedonothing, nistohothic, nistogothic.

Draw the same pictures, digress,
Try again and draw the same only bigger,
Use tried and tested methods to always bring failure
5 pages for 5 years work for 5 minutes of reading,
A year wasted on the 6th, that last minute worthless but for breathing,
Self-propriator of one's own destiny,
contracted to demolition, a punishment to dare a
vision, but to defy visibility to return to a life
of fantasy free from reality and creativity.

What's wrong with me today?  It's not even obvious to myself,
opaque through sleepy eyes and a mind that never
seems to wake up, at least, i hope it hasn't already or the ideal of potential is definately fucked,
and the appeal of heaven will always be another hell.