Poptarts and Tragedy

Sitting by the dim lamp
You know the one
it hurts your eyes
It’s freezing out but the fan’s on
White noise helps drown black thoughts at night

Pop tarts and pilsner and a scratch on my tongue
A breakfast of champions
of sham-pions
of chumps

And I did
I loved Ophelia
But forty thousand brothers could have loved her better
Even one.