Kids are cruel,
Realizing you'll never be a ladie's man,
Twelve years old,
Over looked, walked past as if I was laundry,
On the floor of a lackadaisical bachelor.

Questions begin to whirl,
Is it you? Is it me? Am I not physically capable?
See I am as beautiful as my confidence should make me,

Right?

Loneliness heavily consumes the boundaries of confidence.
Build your home on stone,
Raise your flag through the tools of war,
Be the loudest war cry so each maiden takes notice.

But I am not a soldier on the frontlines,
I am the poet, in the jail cell writing "The flag was still there."
Staring at the mounds of bodies of more able bodied men than myself,
Holding it in place.

Ramparts are the beating of my screaming heart,
Bullets sent straight from my mouth, tear through the flesh of those who find love to be aloof of,

What creativity truly means.

It means you watch from the sidelines,
While the quarterback walks away with the girl of your dreams,
Soldiers wear uniforms that gleam, sweeping a woman clear off her feet,
Bar fight heroes win her heart by never seeing defeat,
Drug dealers and users trap her with promises they could never keep.

Yet here I am, still sitting in my seat.

There's nothing wrong with making believe,
I guess I just find myself pondering,

It's probably me.

Rest is a far away dream I can never attain.
Not to be ironic,
I mean sleep is a hard net in which the goal keeper has golden hands.
Fog rules my brain with an iron fist.
A job fit for a king
Who's tyranny rules over the kingdom where my bed exists,
Memories like film reels, keep tick tock ticking away,
Reminding me why my pain still lives,
or what her hair smelled like,
or my mother hiding her tears while we sat in the dark,
because the bill came and her wallet exhaled dust and not capital.

Counting sheep only shows each mistake I've made jumping over a fence that was built with the ingredients of my broken heart.
Each day is a mission, to keep my eyelids from slipping.
I drive away from all my problems while they have unlimited frequent flyer miles.
Beating me to each destination before I had the chance to say,

"I couldn't seem to sleep last night."

Corralling my senses,
Rolling slot machines,
Softly purring words that disintegrate into empty promises,
Forget it, I'll end up smoking alone anyway.

Know your worth, what you stand for
Even what you sit for,
My *** hurts from the concrete stoop you left me on
Just a pack of cigarettes?

It's the final word,
Finally focusing,
What brought me here in the first place.

Love lost, love gained, love dropped
For the bright lights of a Vegas skyline

"No", to answer your question

"We can't be friends."

The new one is a nurse,
Ironic really.