The Professional Pessimist

I see nothing In the half empty glass My future can't  Get any better than the past I locked myself inside This mentally physical hole Locked up the lock The key I stole I rock on My rocker, I fall off I am a flying flame Drawn to every moth Just destruction's devastation And the embers wake Glowing red-orange heat Kills for new life's sake But I want so much Less for what's more So that I can settle for a loss After I won the war Beating myself with My half-full fists Bruising the eyes Of the professional pessimist Not ever will I never Half will to half-heal Never will I ever See myself half-feel Until my half-full self half-dies And the half-death Fully full Fills my half-full eyes