Untitled - Manufactured Guiltiness

A product of teenage angst.

Verbal misfit as it seems,
Appealing to but few,
Merriment is never close,
For I or the likes of you.

Live my life as long,
As it lets me live,
Manufactured guiltiness,
I'll take what it will give.

The hour glass is empty,
It shows there isn't time,
For foolish thoughts or prayers,
I've crossed the finish line.