Thankful for you Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is coming and I'd like to be shot. Forget the stuffing and cranberries and what not.

The holidays are here celebrated in wine and beer. None of which I can drink so I don't have much cheer.

I just want a way to get out of here.

I think of the things that I'm thankful for. With a list that goes to the floor. But still heartbroken from the things that I've lost before.

Diamonds to a starving man. Bengay to Peter Pan. Isotoner gloves to a man with no hands. Stranger in an even stranger land. Missing stupid shit that I can't understand.

Clinical depression is such a bitch. You can't buy your way out of it ain't that some shit. There's no cure that's for sure. Everyday piled high with manure.

All the crying, all the snot, Thanksgiving is coming and I'd like to be shot.

I'm certainly not thankful for the choices I've made. God knows I'm not thankful for what people have said to me in so many ways. Nor am I thankful for what faces me at the end of each of my days.

Even this rhyme that keeps me awake. Is typed out unthankful with the skill that it takes. For it will go unread by most of the folks. The list is long take notes.

But a consolation, a prize one hopes. I'll send it to maybe one or two poor dopes.

So in my moments of brilliance I know what to do. I guess I'll be thankful for you.

Second thought I'd still like to be shot