The Curse Of A Plastic SmileMature

I might be a disappointment 

Maybe its 'cause i have no savior, 

or because I'm in no ones favor 

You've now become last years flavor 

I wish when i had you, i did more to savor

Now all i can do is write on this paper 

Drank a fifth about it 

I did always try my best to be a perfect fit 

I lost myself long ago in a cheap bottle of whisky 

Now i just go through all the motions

Without any of the emotions 

Except a particular one; 

self loathing  

Now the bottles gone before the sun 

I'm left drunkenly posing 

Stuck  in a state of supposing  

All there's left to say is to get going,

to get growing 

A metamorphosis so long in the making 

My hands are finally done shaking

The End

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