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Never sufficed we are,

Like an expensive but short cigar,

It starts out stiff and ready to burn, 

As we smoke it down, for another we yearn.

The world underneath our nails, but more we declare,

A perfect life through the windshield, but our mind is elsewhere.

It’s bittersweet. Never content. 

The happiness, the purpose, the bliss prevents. 

Greener the grass on the other side is a false report, untrue,

We view existence like a dessert table after dinner we must pursue. 

No, my friend, the other side grass is not green but brown

Yes, the color of dirt, or a washed-up dirty rag, the shade of letdown.   

A regret, a breakdown, you’ll get to that edge and understand,

The other grass has consequences, grief and anguish. It’s only a made-up wonderland.

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