What I know
is an illusion
what I know
is an ideal.
What I know
is a liar
what I know
gains less appeal.
Who I know
is my enemy
who I know
faces defeat.
Who I know
I can not feel
Who I know
can not speak.
Tell me
who are you really?
What are you,
other than a liar,
a manipulator,
a useless freak?
A demon hiding
beneath the sheets.
A mild narcissist with the quill,
whose words are dull, and intend to ****.
A fragile ego full of woe,
insecure, tipping on it's toe,
a shadow person, hiding behind a mask,
a slave to it's selfish task.
A murderer, but a coward at heart,
who can not finish what he starts.
A little prince, who imagines himself a king,
yet can not afford a single ring.
A maniac who needs to steal,
a psychotic who can not
differentiate the fake from real.
A suicidal who still manages to live
he always takes, but can not give.
He works his body to pain and ache,
and sees the world as his cake.
He's as weak as a man could be,
but fantasies is all he can see
in fact, fantasy is all he reads,
he rarely ever does a good deed
a hypocrite who always lies
when one acts like him,
he's quick to despise
he's lustful, full of sin, and hungry eyes,
and for these sins, he stupidly takes pride
if you know you're rotten to this earth,
then tell me, why does it so hurt?
when I tell you to commit suicide
you are nothing but filth and dirt.
Attention deficit in his brain,
and only causes others pain
he blames on things years ago
that no one hears and no one knows.
And even if life isn't fair,
that doesn't mean that I do care,
for you made my life hard to live
there's nothing about you that's positive
I gave you a love so sweet
you sacrificed it for flesh and meat
with trickery, lies, and deceit,
you left my heart bent
like a metal sheet.
unless you wash your ***** heart,
and learn to love and express your art,
maybe then, just maybe I can start,
to know who you truly are at heart.