What you upto?

I busk for husks of rusk, whittle tusk, wear musk (even though it turns a lady's nose up in disgust). I do what I must, try not to rust, go bust or get too crazy in lust. So I hustle in the bustle of this constant tussle without fuss all day to chase the blues that prey away. To stay sane I refrain from self-blame and I campaign in any name so I don't feel ashamed in my own frame. I work days, get paid, don't get laid. My brain, staid, feigns disdain and I could retrain but I came with no aim and every game feels the same. So I get bored, and more and more I'm sure that I am insecure, that I had more fun before, that I am a crushing bore, that I could be more and thus I implore myself to help my mental health. I seek wealth. I come home, get stoned and do nothing else. I am alone and tired of the shelf. Tired, wired and living in stealth. Hiding from my mother and myself. I chide my self and everyone else and I live in sin. Like a protestant born again, hating all persons for what they have done and what they have not done and I shun and I come and I am no-one, just like everyone.