It's Worst When the Silence Screams by Eric Sparks

I win first for fucked-up dreams.
To me, it seems the kings and queens have lost
everything that was supposed to mean anything.
Shit, I’d sell you any dream for a smile or grin;
you should walk a mile or ten, not in my shoes,
but with my feet and my friends;
walk down my street again and again. I’m stuck on High Street
and I see the dead end, but my sneaks
have big holes that I can’t mend. So I pretend to be perfect
while my nose grows longer. My stomach keeps hurting
and I feel the hunger, but food is worthless
except after bong rips.

Then Nietzsche shrieks, “Fuck everything,
I’m done with the dumb shit.”
But we don’t really hear him.