Mark I. Kirkmeyer


Another month’s gone by
Depression holds tight
Paranoia calls the familiar tune
They don’t care about you
You’re just a burden

They can’t see what you do
Highway trucks passing through
It would be so easy
Run before truck at fifty
They couldn’t stop

What stops me must be fear
The thought that I’d still be here
Broken worse than I currently am
The best laid plan of man
A joke to God

Taste buds scream for beer
I don’t drink in past socially
Alcohol lost appeal watchin’ teens
Ruinin’ their life; dyin’ to be seen
But now I want some.