Matchstuck Men & Other Freaking Clever Titles

Just Vague Enough To Work

½ the time my clothes don’t

Even feel comfortable

But I think people will think
I have something.
Just jokes people want anymore.

Jokes & agreement & difference, they want me to seem

Cool.
When I say difference,

I mean difference agreeable

Comfortable.

Fitted, lookin’ sexy, difference.
Difference we can market at social gathering
You’ll be a hoot, you old night owl.

You old wordplay, sell out single.
I ran out of jokes and people got mad

And I got sad

So jokes, no more jokes it all feels so fake

We all say that. I’ve run out of originality.
I ain’t marketable any more

I’m vain, mental masturbating prophet without profit

And money managing skills

And the idea that rhyming will make the poems better.
I can’t even get mad at you for not respecting,

Understanding,

Not making fun of

Me cause I have no clue who I am.
It’s all defined by what I own and what I listen to.
What a sad life.

My death will be shitty at this rate.
I’m trying to be artsy,
I look up things to impress.
But there’s a method to these matchsticks

It’s not just a name I came up with.