Cheers,
to all my fellow one-trick ponies
as we spend our time scrabbling to the plateaus of rhinestone history
written by dreamers named liars
looking for the easy life.
until you all asked to marry me.

idle, better known as bridal
t'ain't the coupled life for me
as couples are and I'm to be: water and oil
sooner, I'd be drawn, ductile, into misery
thrashing for enlightenment, 
gasping, hurting harder to find what fits
to see how deep the red hot iron heart sits
burning in my chest, deeper than self-hypnosis
heavier than all our volumes of self-help

if it's easy, it's suspicious
if it's easy I don't want it
if it's easy I don't need it.
I don't need it.
If it easy it doesn't need me. 
Am I easy? I'm fast food.
The easy life is for the birds
these collars are cages and i won't be held
if it fits just right, I tear it up
throw it out
after all, the great ones say
as today would have it, it pertains
'a glass can only spill what it contains.'