Bad Poetry #09

Well, to be honest I don't feel.
The urgency to twist and turn and run.
Chasing dreams made of meals.
Leaving dreams I keep in the urn.
And, It's too late to rattle the bones.
of peaceful closet skeletons.
A new life isn't the metamorphosis.
But, at least the old one is long gone.
My conscience is clear.
This place has good bear.
This isn't where I'd hoped to be.
But, no need to bitch and sear.
If I had guns I'd shoot the cans.
If I had rhythm I'd move and dance.
All I have is bleak memories.
So I'll do whatever I damn please.