The Sad Bastard

(you posers ain't got nothin on me!)

*ahem*

The Sad Bastard

I am the sad bastard
I’m the loneliest person in the world
No one has ever thought my tragic thoughts
I am the epitome of jade sensitivity, my
every tender eyelash is a redwood of suffering,
casting deepest roots, thirsting in an ocean of salty tears
You chop me down with your callous vulgarity
And I’m scorched in a desert of parched, harrowing doom;
I pose my head down in this decayed leper’s palm
whimpering echo sounds into a blank white sheet
I am the ghost that haunts my own soul in the dead of winter;
If Sorrow were a televised reality show, I would be its mournful host,
rejecting the make-up artist, offering my pocked-marked neck up to
a coast-to-coast audience of unblinking executioners.