Words, Television, and Pills

i wish i could fit in
with the group of non-conformists
the misfits
the delightful gothics
the miserables
who breed company

i'm sad and i'm sick
curled in front of the television
watching stories of more
sad sick people like me

i'm different from you
in the way that i
i am what you could never be
honest not to myself,
but honest to you

i wouldn't dream of lying
not when you hold
my bottle of pills
my sweet serenity
free of unwelcome guilt

born to this
sick wealth, this
city that makes its people
ambivalent to each other
and their struggles

moments of apathy
prevailing depression
no, friend, not now
maybe in a week
maybe tomorrow
maybe in an hour
but not now

            i do not need the
            non-conformists
            if your revolution
            is another pointless monarchy
            of bad poems, roses, regrets,
            then you may keep it to yourself

                    i have enough of that here already
                    in my words, my television, and my pills