What’s to want,
in a perfect world?
I can live each day,
as if simple existence be my desire.
I can live so, knowing that
her kiss meant nothing,
and her touch truly was but,
one hand in a misguided night.

Yet I find with a passing glance,
in the mirror I try to avoid,
the look of a lying fool.
One that says,
it is nothing but dreams,
and simple truth which you admire.

What’s to want,
in a perfect world,
when desire is existence,
built upon the admiration of dreams?
Oh such unrelenting rage that is relinquished!
When that of which you desire is not obtained.
Must I drink this poison so that I grow numb?
Better that I chain my mind,
so it grows not to think?

Pound me to dust, so I simply go—
Oh, no breath from those lips,
could cure my ill mind.
But perhaps, so it could be done, for
What’s to want, in a perfect world?
Where simple existence of obtained desired dreams,
expend that doubt from those whom denied
such words of thought, such mounting tension,
in a unrelieved mind.

‘Till it be but a simple stone on a shoreline,
with no purpose but to be,
slapped again and again
by cold, cruel merciless waves--
Let doubt cease its existence
in my mind of unapproachable woes.

Ain't real, said a strong working man to me.

Seems strange, one of my lady friends complained.

If it's what you want, eased my true friends to me.

But I find that it ain't real, and rather strange,

that fake tenderness and manipulation is a characteristic,

of which I engage.

Love, oh from any corner I would take it,

as a sign that my life isn't so foul and riddled with mistakes.

I am attempting to hold, any good feelings I had for you,

but I'm finding them disappear as the sun comes,

to melt away this stubborn snow.

If only my father, and old lovers would go away.

If my true friends stayed, but then left again to simply be:

I'd ask you there alone, what you think of me?

And before you'd answer, I'd run away--

and cheer you on as you came running after me.

We'd play our game, of fake tenderness and conditioned love,

and I'd end it. With you crying in the night,

wondering what will come. Bitterness isn't sweet,

and I hate some certain aspects of you, entirely.