Where Roads Diverge, Pt. 2

I know not what I wish for when I wish that I could change.

I'd do as well to trade retreating hairline for a case of mange.

To adopt the common value's to believe the TV's lies

That having more will make me happy—to hoard, and be dissatisfied.

Perhaps I ought to be creative rather than pay convenience fees,

But the bills bear someone else's face. My time is marked for me,

and while supervision rankles, it straight repels to be adored.

I hate the wrong decisions, but hate the right ones even more.

Where Roads Diverge, Pt. 1

Hard rock begat pop-metal, and pop-metal, glam.

I've evolved just enough to dislike who I am.

Sometimes I should put “long-term” before “now.”

I hate that I ask—and don't figure out—how.

I hate that others must mind when I shirk

'Cause I'd empty my Netflix queue in lieu of work.

I know I should mind earthly matters, rewards,

and respect that other folks collect them, if not hoard,

So that my debts and my enemies don't endlessly climb

I hate making the wrong decision all the time.