My silhouette; it's black.
Walking into the hands
of what I know is wrong.
Something that once brought forth
the lack
of needs to keep me strong.
it's wrong; my silhouette,
She decides to dive into a pool
filled to the brim of what I long
for in these years that have schooling,
fooling my conscience mind.
The door was wide open.
"All it will cost is a small token."
Three words
that I must not ever speak.
"I'm so broken."
At the same time,
we want you to appear weak.
We want your physique.
We own you.
Strong; mentally.
So proceed and do
things intentionally.
Make others feel shame.
Not to mention we will help you numb and feel pain.
We will pull you close
until you have no choice
but to be lured
in by your own self.
Each wake you think,
"Maybe this day I'll be cured."
In constant battles with the help,
we make it easier to settle
for the diseased mind,
then to cope
with an underlying past from behind.
We are the brick wall
guarding the suppressed.
These feelings,
they need not ever be expressed.
We will teach you control.
Feel guilty.
We will guide your soul.
You will be under constant attack.
My silhouette; she is black.