Progressively worse...

I wake up alone, but she's asleep beside me,
I stand up alone while she stares right by me.
I sing in the shower, she's in all my songs,
She doesn't know the words, but she still sings along.
The passion put in them about how I'm wrong,
The energy and emotion I'd missed while she's gone.

It hurt to walk away
Still looking toward that day
when she's in my arms again,
I know how long it's been,
I'll cry until the end,
or least 'til the day when...

One leg at a time, I pull on my jeans,
Just like everyone else, whatever that means...
I put on my ankh, and throw on a shirt,
that keeps my life, that masks my hurt.
I grabbed a pen and scribbled a note,
"This world is ours" is what I wrote.
Under that I drew a smile, but crossed it out and thought for a while...

"What am I doing?!" I wanted to yell, but then comes my jacket and I'm back in my cell.
I'm in an eight by eight square, it's a living hell.
I'm here for eternity, good behavior'd be swell,
but, life without parole I'll serve just as well.

Follow me yet, or should I keep going?
I could write forever and ever without ever slowing,
Like the wind in a hurricane, I'll keep right on blowing,
My angst breaks through the dam, and keeps right on flowing,
watering my flowers of pain, it keeps that inspiration growing,
I'll write 'till I'm senile, powerful, all-knowing
I'll write 'till my end or 'till I physically can't,
'till these fingers fall off I'll continue to rant,
This world jacked full of hate will only get worse
The reason I look forward to ride in that hearse,
Writing this shit is my favorite curse,
It does me no good, so I'll end with this verse...