Short Story: Am I The Problem?

They look like a saint, but they’re really a sinner,
Plating up lies, mixed into your dinner.
Say you can’t sing, to your dreams of a singer,
This person’s deceased, and I’m a grave digger.

No hope and no love, you’re just what they ordered,
You’ve got some problems? Well get them sorted.
But what if these problems, are those that you chortled?
What if this venom, was spewed by your molars?

My money is theirs, my tears cannot fall.
A slip of the tongue, the shadows chase down the halls.
Breathe in my ear, not human or deer.
This house is haunted, with the words of my peers.

So shut off the lights, fall into a slumber.
When you don’t awake, the world still will thunder.
So take off your clothes, and dance in the hail.
This isn’t an answer, this won’t straighten your morals.

So never forget,
Never look back.
They’ll stand in front,
They’ll run the pack.

The ocean isn’t yours,
But you can fill a bottle.
You don’t own the world,
But you own that body.