Notes From An Underground Man...

I am a sick and I am a spiteful
My foolishness I find delightful
I feel pain with hate and laughter
In darkness as a shadow-caster

I'm no insect nor a hero
A vile/noble chosen zero
I'll not lie nor tell a truth
I learned no difference in my youth

I've no self-respect nor shame
I will accept most any blame
Then deny it all as one big game
For I am every contradiction
Full of empty non-conviction

By age forty I'll be dead
or an after-taste of words I'd said
Fools or scoundrels become old
Their time paid by the soul they sold
Or alive as only what they're told

I am sick and I am spiteful
I've found this all so damned delightful
As I laugh and cry in pain
I'm proud to say it's all in vain
But worth my every last disdain