Pink Flamingoes And White Swans

This life of perpetual goodbyes Is so sad and funereal-parlor depressing That it drives me mad! I might laugh hilariously At the open grave of a friend And extend him a hand And pull his dead-ass Right out of the hole For one more shot of whiskey Before his eyes Are all dirt-covered with oblivion. When I was five, I thought everything was going to be Pink flamingoes and white swans, River moonlight giving way To golden dawns, Beautiful girls barely-clad With delicate smiles; I thought I would do it all with style. Predictably, nothing has been that way, Merely long days of discontent, Disconsolate beneath streetlights and in alleyways And every moment searching frantically For a path of escape from debilitating loneliness, But I now understand I’m here and I’m trapped.