Subtext

It always starts about the same
 
Another day, a life away
Mathematically, I start to play- but the probabilities never stray
 
Sunk in too deep, a way of life
Overt in monotony, drenched with strife
 
Flattened by the constant drone of
Undercurrents pressing bone
Canonizing an empty home
Killing a made up life I thought I’d owned
Innate in my absurdity I
Never thought I’d live to see my
Glowing neon sign of life displaying such a vacancy
 
Loneliness would never bother
Over one, and then another
Never doing more than saunter but
Every time, I find, I falter
Lush with my ability to overanalyze my misery
You peruse my wares, but then you see… there really isn’t much to me.