There is a sliver, digging into my skin
This small, sparkling shard of rock candy, made from sugar carried on the backs of ants
Constant hyper activity, a miniature reminder of childhood
Wedged just beneath the surface, just deep enough to be hidden from the light

I crave the kind of coffee house depression that can only be spawned at the hands of a double mocha half caf latte,
And the resulting angst of stale biscotti
Some form of trendy sadness so that I too can be a part of this sad and down trodden MTV generation
Where is the columbine of the mundane?
Must I too take to arms for the love of my parents?

Or should I slave away, trailing my tattered cloak of false hope through the mud of mediocrity?
Accepting that no one loves me, that life is just that difficult
The overweight are funny when they climb stairs
The ignorant make funny noises when they struggle with words
But in a world where people are obsessed with stock quotes and the cost of gas, at least they're jolly
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