There was hardly any genius in my detritus,
prettily dressed out of the black moods
and rabid highs from the froth
of chemical means,
or the ease in which they broke me
down into a common experience.
Where was the singularity
in over 1 million copies sold?
I'll never be bargain basement,
overstock;
I won't live that long.
I'll buy it in the
high strung noose of my angst driven,
much-envied talent.
They'll sing my praises
to the pendulum rhythm they make of me
in the direction of mediocrity
of becoming a house hold name...