The Irony Of Dying On Your Birthday

The Irony Of Dying On Your Birthday
Just know
We are
A spec
In time.
So follow your bliss
And destroy the beauty
I'll lock myself alone in a room
Drink until the clock strikes noon
With just a pen, a pill, and some paper
And maybe I will write a sad song
Or another cliche poem
Of the person that I long to be

I want to die like Jim Morrison
A fucking rock star
I want to die like god on the cover of time.
Just a blink and it's gone
So baby pour some fame in my glass.
So kill the forest
And destroy the beauty.
I'll lock myself alone in a room
Drink until the clock strikes noon
With just a pen, a pill, and some paper
And maybe I will write a sad song
Or another cliche poem
Of the person that I long to be
(Colors blind)
the eyes
(Sounds deafen)
the ear
(Flavors numb)
the taste
(Thoughts weaken)
the mind
I'll attack someone with a switchblade knife
So that I can see their pain
I choose to be a serial killer
'Cause the victims don't get any fame.
I'll lock myself alone in a room
Drink until the clock strikes noon
With just a pen, a pill, and some paper
And maybe I will write a sad song
Or another cliche poem
Of the person that I long to be

Just know we are a spec in time