There's someone in my head...but it's not me.

So keep me on for the ratings.
Up the charts and feed the beast.
Sacrafice the children, screaming,
it'll hush them up at least. For
now i'm losing popularity between
the open field and stage, and i'm
stairing at the lawn chairs, and
the empty wars they wage, against
sanity corrupt, amoungst a perfect
youth. who value merits and numaricals
over social piety and couth. but i
havent lost all hope yet that a door
will shout "i'm here!" and through
it i'll be king of useless, and pesents
with no fear, of dying or of living
as grammar never did permit. them to
write out sentances for which stonecarvings
dont seem fit. and i'll hand them baked
regret upon a silver platter tray.
and they'll look up to see my bloodied
hands and yell "thank you!" and "hooray".
All this is my dream, my darling, all this
is my goal, it is what i wish for every
night lying on the sheets i stole, and
the pillowcases toped with with sweat
and all the tears ive shed - screaming
out "if only" as i lye helpless in my bed.