Engulfed in the entrapment of society,
Hatred, utter mutiny is around each corner,
Or however, maybe even a marauder.
Making the best of what’s given,
Our whole lives, everything we do is of course,
Mistaken.

Engulfed in the entrapment of society,
Standing still, waiting for each misfortune.
However, feeling trapped, engulfed by the pain,
Of others who have no sense of pain, no sense of empathy.
Our whole lives, everything we do is of course,
Misfortune.

Engulfed in the entrapment of society,
Breaking free of the grasp, long, tired days,
However, free.
The cameras are lying.
Each breath being taken, everything taken the wrong way.
There’s always…
Misfortunate you.

Engulfed in the utter entrapment of your words,
There’s misfortunate me,
Standing still, waiting for the mutiny, the terrifying marauder.
Making the best of what’s given to me.
Thinking there’s a chance,
However, free.
There be…
Misfortunate me.

Grasping at the one true self,
Looking past the one who is always stressed,
Finding something that no one has,
Looking past the ‘spaz’
The one who hid behind the laugh,
The one who has decent emotions,

Grasping at the one true self,
Only willing two people see that one,
Peeling back the skin, showing small bits,
Sewing back up the gruesome slits,
As the blood slithers its way down pale arms.

Grasping at the one true self,
As the two people grab colored towels,
Sopping up the blood,
Staring at the slits,
A small light within the gap,
As things start to go a little…

Grasping at the one true self,
Closing the blue eyes,
It’s always been just two,
Gasping for breath.

Grasping at the one true self,
Waking up in a white room, bandages around the wrists,
Red markings are underneath,
Indicating what happened was real.
However,
Behind the red,
There’s that small tinge of light.

Grasping at the one true self,
As the two people grab colored towels,
Sopping up the blood,
Staring at the slits,
A small light within the gap,
As things start to go a little…

Here is a story about dysfunctional love,
Leaving a liquor bottle of whiskey unopened in her place.
She resembles the love I feel for that bottle,
Poisonous and can’t get enough.
There’s days where heading back seems easier,
When there’s days like this there’s others where,
I look back and notice that it’s even harder going back.

Even harder in the fact of emotional abuse,
Looking back, sure she made me feel good,
But it’s even harder when she blamed hard decisions…
about life on me, every day she wanted to die she blamed…
On me.

Here is a story about dysfunctional love,
She’s the poison within the liquid of the unopened liquor,
Killing the most needed organs slowly until I’m on the transplant list.
Just about a year goes by, stealing my organs, but the most needed one.
She stole my heart within an act of revenge, instead of handing it back..
She crushed it, looking over ash…
Then she blamed me.

She left me hanging, banging my head,
She watched me die slowly in the distance,
Grasping at my chest for the heart that she tore out then…
Kicked in the stomach, apologizing when she did it,
She’s the reason I hated myself, but she hated herself too, but she blamed…
It on me.

Here is a story about dysfunctional love,
Leaving a liquor bottle of whiskey unopened in her place.
She resembles the love I feel for that bottle,
Poisonous and can’t get enough.
There’s days where heading back seems easier,
When there’s days like this there’s others where,
I look back and notice that it’s...
Even harder going back.