The Real World

Whenever I'm feeling super unmotivated to finish a writing project (right now), I go back through all my old documents in effort to conjure up some inspiration. While doing this two minutes ago, I came across a poem I wrote last year. Well, sort of wrote. It's a cento poem (meaning "patchwork" in Latin), which is a poem made up of a bunch of different lines of other poems, books, or in this case, song lyrics.
It's not the happiest thing you will ever read, but ten gold stars to anyone who can name all the songs (and one movie quote) it includes, without looking them up.

The Real World
We’re waking up at the start of the end of the world,
Though it feels like every other morning before.
We want to feel reckless, want to live it up just because.
We want to feel weightless.
So we pray to God to justify the way we live a lie.
Our streets are extended gutters, and the gutters are full of blood,
But we let it roll, let it roll right off our shoulders.
Do you feel the weight of the world singing sorrow?
Or to you is it just not real?
Sometimes I convince myself that all is fine in the world.
Because it’s hard to understand, when you’re fed by a TV screen,
That there are no rain drops on roses and girls in white dresses.
So let’s keep it moving, keep our feet up off the ground.
Our hearts are littering the topsoil,
But we let it slide, we let our troubles fall behind.
This is just another suicide Sunday, another day to do nothing.
This is the sound of settling.
And if we find our way through the darkest of nights,
Will we laugh about the things that kept us awake?
We think to ourselves,
“Wouldn’t it be nice, to never be alone in this wasted life?”
So we all float on, together we all float on okay.
But as long as we live, time passes by,
And we’ve got all the time in the world,
To get a grip on the fact that we don’t last.
So watch the end through dying eyes,
Now the dark is taking over.
Welcome to the real world now,
Am I the only one that thinks it’s tragic?