Melodrama in my own home as I pretend it doesn't exist

Thinking of superficial things like the scratches down my wrist

Anarchy and chaos are my bedtime tales at night

White noise and confusion love to tuck me in real tight

I justify each outcome as a product of the means

As the means are correlated to the circumstance, it seems

Circumstances born from a mediocre thought

Forged from situations that the prior outcomes wrought

If ever is a phrase that I know I'll never say

Is how the hell do I send these blasted pains away

Anger is my happiness, as depression is my joy

Futility's security and malevolence a toy

Boredom is a sedative while pain keeps me awake

The question is whether to give or be in on the take