A Toast to an Asshole

How long will it take for you to cry yourself into a drunken stupor.

 

How many people do you have to ignore or insult as they grieve before you are completely knocked out.

 

When will you get the truth through your head that your not a victim, but the oppressor.

 

When does it begin to sink it, when the bottle of rum is empty the glass in your hand is half full?

 

You'll beg and you'll cry on a nearby shoulder, but as others need the same your tears stab the other persons tears to death.

 

You can't abide grief in the face of others. 

 

Yet you expect them to abide yours.

 

You won't listen to bitching of the masses, but you bitch as much as all of them combine and for the rest of your life.

 

When will you get that you don't even come close to helping, but you expect a ton of help in return.

 

Woe is you you say?

 

I say fuck you, that's what I say.

 

Alone and blistered, and turning quickly gray.

 

Maybe one day you'll stay the same only difference being you'll slowly fade away.

 

Can't help you, because you don't want to be helped.

 

It's easier to live in your little lie, and make light of the troubles of others.

 

Who have endured it longer, and you only had maybe a year of attachment.

 

Don't get up and down your drink, I tried to buy you beer but you only stole away the liquor cabinet inbetween your mattresses.

 

Take some pills, here's some anti-depressant. 

 

Push your way inside another person who doesn't really want you.

 

And then whine and cry because your dellusions made it so perfect, when in reality everyone else saw the tell tale signs.

 

Reserve yourself back there, in the corner under the blanket of shadows,

And rock back and forth,

And sing a song about nothing in particular.

 

Curse the world for not understanding you,

 

When you never really wanted them to.