Not Much Rhymes With Everything's Awesome At All Times

Things were amazing when you lived in LA
 Things were sublime up in the East Bay
 Then you landed in England's grey London town
 Again things were great
 You say you're a writer but what can you say
 When each night ends another perfect day?
 When a week in a hostel was a fabulous stay
 You're just too high to reach
 It's hard to swallow your big bright pills
 The one I want to ask, how do you really feel?
 Can you dim the lights for just a few minutes?
 Lose the phrases, the overused snippets?
 You're living among the grime and the soot
 A scene straight out of a Charles Dickens book
 Ain't got no man to give you no love
 A kiss on the cheek, a welcome home hug
 You say you're a poet but I've not read a line
 Just seen the notebook, the cover and spine
 You say you're a poet but how much rhymes
 With everything's perfect at all times?
 You left for Rome and Paris, France
 Came back home in a born again trance
 You met me for lunch, so late one day
 Out of breath with so much to say
 We sat down together and I stared at your phone
 I squinted hard but could not feel your tone
 I looked on at endless two-inch frames
 Thinking "Christ, they're all the fucking same"
 What's beneath your glow and your gleam?
 What's not in the picture baby?
 Are there scars somewhere on your skin
 And are there more deeper you're hiding?
 Tell me about when you were a kid
 Did someone you know drive off of a cliff?
 Did you get picked on by your big brother?
 What are you carrying? What are you smothering?
 Is something crawling on you like bugs?
 Is something eating away at your guts?
 Is something slithering down in the drain?
 Is something swimming around in your veins?
 You say that you're happy here in this place
 Staring off into internet space
 Trying to hit a magic button
 Wake up only next to no one
 Next to your laptop and your slick phone
 And your book of illogic poems
 You're my friend and you know I love you
 Open up, babe, no I won't judge you
 I'm an artist, it's all that I've got
 I know when I see one and baby, you're not
 A poet knows that not much rhymes
 With everything's perfect at all times
 Say you're a poet but I've not read a line
 Just seeing the notebook, the cover and spine
 You say you're a poet but not much rhymes
 With everything's perfect at all times