Beige Soul

Got a bit sick of the stereotypical angsty teenagers I was sat on a train with and wrote this...

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Wanting to be someone famous
Whilst sitting on a train
Headed for the bustling metropolis
Hoping for the rain
To hit your face and then the pavement
As you walk with anonymity,
One underweight epitome
Of the Indie scene cliché.
With your bangs in your eyes
And your lips painted red,
Under your arm is a book
Of classical poets, all dead.
Falling in love on the hour
Just to keep from being bored,
And, still, for all your cleverness,
'Pathetic' is the word
To describe the shallow scratches left
By pangs of pains that don't have names
A calculated charming coldness
Is your only claim to fame.
The drink in your system
And the drugs that you take
Are just painting the picture
You're dying to make.
Waiting to find something
That's enough to inspire
You to take the first step
And set the whole world on fire
But that would take a talent
That you're sadly lacking
So you take another round trip
And forget about packing
Anything but a notebook
And an eyeliner pencil,
Using all negative media
As a kind of a stencil
To feel alive but unknown
Whilst trying to find
The courage that's needed
To leave it all behind
Whether you jump on or in front
Of that bus you can see
You'll only be mourned
For the things you won't be.