Rotten Through

We tell ourselves lies just to be the hero.
If we don’t we might need to accept we’re zero.
A problem that refuses to change.
Grow to become something less vain.
It would be bliss if we just could.
Yet so far we’ve failed.
Still running in circles like chickens with no heads.
Keeping ourselves dosed up with plenty of meds.
Denying that we ever step over the line.
Only kidding ourselves that we are fine.
As demons cackle from both shoulders.
Repeating our mistakes as if we got orders.
Good little soldiers carrying out our fears.
Maybe we should get to the three cheers.
Proclaiming ourselves as saints in the sun.
While ruining some others run.
Picking them apart until they’re filled with self doubt.
Selfish taunts are all we do shout.
Clawing at wounds barely scabbed over.
Turning innocents into a twisted four leafed clovers.
Smiling at pain we’ve brought unto them.
It feeds us like an addiction to chems.