Save your sorry state of somber for someone who would bother to even lift finger for ya, tread lightly on the egg shells mixed with glass at you walk barefoot on the fragments of the past.
Complicate your mind with your own lack of self control, bury your head deep in your somber little hole,
Your pathetic, weak, with no self believe just rot away somewhere far so your god can't hear you weep,
Sleep silently because your not much good alive, before reality wakes up and takes you inside.
Going through life with your 6 steps till death Your one of many pawns in this game of chess. Pay the blood price, take your own life to make your queen feel blessed. a psuedo-sacrifice, with no duress. Going from darkness to light, black and white without spite. On the front line, never steps back, focused only on attack. Would only change direction to take another life like a heart carved from ice, For only her protection, Paramount conviction.
Yet your so easily cast away. The queen plans her strategy and picks her tactics, her authority demands drastic acts of fanatics, who would do anything for her...fools gambit.
This darkened room is binding..sitting here absent minded its almost blinding..the clocks in my skull start rewinding still finding the strings of my heart I've tethered... nerve endings severed...Clipping my own wings for their feathers.
People seem to despise the fact that every time I think I open my eyes.....I seem to think clearly then...my perception isn't clouded by self doubt and current events..not another brain cell spent....see I like to be resourceful..I like to use what I've got...but again ill receive the same remorse from the usual lot...but that's ok..I ain't gotta be ashamed of who I'm am...I'm jack..not some TOWIE scam. I want be be myself you see.. See what I wanna be and not society planting those twisted ****** up seeds in the ground that is my benevolence...covering with a different grain of dirt is irrelevant, as Oscar himself once said "be yourself, everyone else is taken" and by no stretch of the imagination was he ******* mistaken. Smash the twisted mirrors.
Still a work in progress
— The End —