I go to school and do my work
in the shadows they will lurk
making sure I'm on time
and never stepping out of line
at home I'll cry, and when the clock strikes 3
there with tear soaked pillows I will sleep
whatever I do I am always late
I guess its just an insomniac trait

you pretended to be a real musician
following the papers given to you
pressing keys you had learned back then
but once you were forced on stage you knew
that for this you weren't ready
the crowd stares at you
like you're something they need to study
you hear the once steady beat
turn into a nightmarish feat
the pounding of heart drums
echo in the air
soon the crowd turn to none
and you're left with an instrument that was never there

hand sewing everything with thread tied in knots
putting patterns in places they don't belong
binding them together in desperation
but it seems the thread of life was unable
to keep my patchwork from tearing apart at the seams

what can I do
to make you stop?
for you to not yell at me...
I'm trying all that I can
and I know I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed
but that doesn't mean you have to degrade me
you want me to treat you like a god
yet you're actually just a ****
if my existence is bothering you
would it be best if I was gone?
would that work?

Dissatisfaction
Leads to investigation
Truth hidden in life