the diary is sad and empty,
the cat is all alone,
the dieing boy is crying,
while you sit at home,
filling your head with talking muffins and dancing puppets,
changing the channel every few minutes,
while your brain rots away,
your muscles get weak,
you crap in your pants,
your leg falls asleep,
your missing your friends,
the music needs playin',
the dog needs some water,
but instead you sit there and slaughter your mind with tv,
i must finish the pitiful poem,
because my mom is coming home,
and i must go sit and stare in front of the tv's screen,
so she won't think there's something wrong with me