Restless nights shadow stress filled days
These words are forced, can’t you tell?
A pen with no hand to stain black
For that hand is shaking too much to control
The flowing script I’ve grown to hate
Meaningless dribble, that’s what this is
A story with no depth
Simply pretty painted images
For shallow hearts and empty heads
So why do I write with such colorful purposes
If all who reads can’t make out the big words
Overly pretentious couplings
Of things I once believed
Why do I write my heart on these pages
If all who reads have the sole intentions of damage
And is it wrong for me to find humor here?
In the irony of my own actions?
For I do, and I can’t help it
I bet if you thought hard enough you would see it too
Tucked bellow for special eyes only
Beneath the gaily drawn dragons
There lies a hungry beast
Is it not funny to see people drawn to this?
Is it not right for me to laugh
At blissful ignorance held taut on the surface?
Stretched tight to hide
even though the result is far from concealing
So I laugh at this, and at myself
For having attempted to change
The nature of these things
For having attempted to mold
A brick into something beautiful
For these are my words
And these are my thoughts
And there is no dragon for me to unveil
And there is no ink from which I would sculpt
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment