The anger, it grows
The anger, it grows, and doesn’t subside.
The glimpse of betrayal, it serves as a guide.
I’m saying ‘don’t hurt me ‘, exposing the pain,
She’ll only press harder, as if it’s a gain
To always diminish, to always negate,
And why would I wait? I’m getting irate.
And this is my fate, I’m always too late,
‘Clean up on my isle! I’m damsel, you’re bait!’
And see myself rushing to every extreme.
Whatever I’ve dreamt, is more than a dream,
Whatever I’ve witnessed, is mine to behold,
I miss loving guidance of just being told.
Whatever I’ve screwed, I forever correct,
Through my dialect, I’ll commit and erect
A characteristic to cover the bet,
While casting another compounded net,
My face may be wet, but I’m not gonna let my life to become full
of spite and regret.
I’ll even play dead, before I forget why I was so edgy, and
rather upset.
Perhaps alphabet doesn’t offer the letters
To try and explain what I’m trying to say,
Perhaps I’m inventing a method of closeness that goes beyond
just ‘around the way’.
Perhaps I am normal, or maybe insane,
I scramble my brain, don’t keep in the lane,
And see every moment through wondrous rain.
I hate all the pain, but keep my mind trained,
I’m ready for war full of scorn and disdain.
I run from the plain, I grow and abstain,
Or maybe punk out and turn to mundane.
I’m moving, I’m breathing, I’m fucking alive,
Another heartbreaker, but no 9 to 5,
Another diminished and squandered sandcastle,
Another mnemonic to be who I am,
I’m only a person, a human, a vessel,
But only I know, it’s true what I dreamt.
