Dystopia

another day gone by another thirty dead until we rue the day "what's exactly wrong with your head?" please just psychoanalyze till someone else is gone again another one in purgatory another scream to murmur another fifty murdered until we can somehow figure what kind of bliss comes from this our lives will be spent in belligerence to the point we're making wagers in any other lie in this reach for utopia when do the screams stop when do we stop dreaming? i walk right into reality sit in a seat to the corner pull up a magazine read somewhere between the lines just another thirty dead what's so wrong with us what's so wrong with life why would you want to take it? why would you ever want to give the cynics any more reasons? just another day in dystopia i guess