The Damned Union

A match made in Hell,

Right from the start,

Like a failed piece of art,

Thrown away,

On a clearance cart.

A match made in Hell,

But it was on sale,

And both were buying,

So blinded by a bargain,

Neither could tell,

That the other was lying.

A match made in Hell,

It started out well,

But it’ll never work,

Not when both parties,

Are so berserk.

A match made in Hell,

They say you never can tell,

But others knew,

How it would end,

Long before it was through.

A match made in Hell,

And they can’t change that,

No matter how much,

They bitch and yell.

A match made in Hell,

Doomed before,

It ever fell,

No way to win,

Despite the fun it’s sometimes been.

A match made in Hell,

What was supposed to be bliss,

Feels more like,

Being locked in a cell.

A match made in Hell,

No one wanted to sell,

But when it’s over it’s over,

It’ll never turn back,

Into a sunny field of clover.

A match made in Hell,

Regardless of being the ball’s belle,

Evidently,

That one wasn’t worth having,

And had to be sent packing.

A match made in Hell,

Left ugly and split,

Chewed up and spit out,

Like old and broken sea shells,

Washed ashore,

In the ocean’s swells.

A match made in Hell,

Where nothing happy dwells,

They thought it would taste sweet,

Like caramel,

Turns out it’s rotten,

And it’d be best forgotten.

Actually, You Suck

Mind your business,

You piece of shit,

Too bad for you,

If you don’t like it,

It’s my life to live,

And not one fuck is given,

About your opinion.

Not being traditional,

Does not warrant a pill,

I think you may just need to chill,

You are not superior,

Just stop being so bossy,

If you don’t want me to act so saucy.

My calling is not good enough,

To you it just screams trashy,

God forbid I’m unlike you,

An idiot I must be,

Since I’m lacking your degree,

I guess that must mean,

I could never be ‘perfect’ like you,

You’re just so fuckin’ classy.

You assume yourself a saint,

For choosing silence over sound,

On your temper you put a restraint,

Your logic says you appear angelic,

For leaving opinions unsaid,

But I see through this false front you paint,

I see that you’re a prick.

I have a problem,

It must be solved with option A or option B,

You insist I should be just like you,

By choosing option C,

But C does not exist for me,

And behind closed doors,

I know your life does not flow smoothly,

Like the false front you paint,

For outsiders to see.

A loser you say,

You have this,

I do not have that,

I can see what you’ve got,

You forget I am not blind,

And I can use my own mind,

Here that thing is just not wanted,

And to me that ‘awesome’ thing,

It’s just stupid shit,

So be mad,

Feel hate,

I know all about,

The false front that you paint.

What I have my hands have earned,

How it’s spent will be my choice,

As will be anything you hear,

Uttered by my voice,

I do not strive to be a saint,

And a false front I will not paint.

Do not expect my sympathy,

Next time Karma comes a-knocking,

You talk shit about me,

When I have a calamity,

I like seeing the tables turned,

Maybe you’ll wake up with newfound empathy.