The rose; once beautiful and strong,
now death towards tend,knowing it won't be long.
Frail it stands; and the wind that once brought pollen,
blows just as hard to see it fallen.
It,once a symbol of love,
Now does crave,
For a taste of what it once gave;
That liberating feel of love,
For what's it now to a wing-clipped dove?
A stranger to the sky it once graced above,
Reality painting,as.   temporary relations
what it once held as eternal love,in the frames of its imaginations.

Is this Love?
A selfish game where two; maybe more participate,
And for ****** satisfaction,anticipate.
with all eager to satisfy their needs
And oft forget the good deeds.

Is this love?
when it's not me you really like,
But my money,and uncertain future alike.
Where mutual benefit is not assumed,
And only one party's fetch is consumed.

Is this love?
When i am not alone,
Easily replaced when gone.
An asset at one instant; a liability at another,
When *** is what binds us,nothing further.

Is this love?
When only one is ever right,
And every time we meet,we fight.
When every sunrise finds one dreary,
And every sunset meets one teary.

A huge veil separates us from reality,
'Casualties of abnormal normality'
And that's my generation,
Thirsty for immediate gratification.
Paying no mind to Morpheus,trapped inside a matrix
The system is a slab; the slingers are these mind tricks.
searching for truth,finding it in drugs and ***,
Somebody it seems,put on us a hex,
Not caught up in your such for heaven,
in our chill-spots we have a 'safe' haven.
hanging from life's cliff,by a weakening thread,
you can't blame us; in recklessness we were bred.
Holy books aside, give me Li'l wayne's rhymes,
Misplaced faith,we worship dimes.
disintergrated morals,
Child-parent quarrels.
Watch us puth God,girls,gangs and guns-
in the same sentence,
and hope for a fairer retribution,than to misery,a life sentence

We chose the blue pill,
His food for thought was too cold a meal.
He said the red one was better,
We thought, hey! live now repent later.

He said seek the truth,
We thought,a strange soul forsooth,
To leave these,that give us pleasure,
For 'truth' a peculiarity we don't treasure?

He called it the solution,
We preferred the blissful ignorance of illusion.
We, wanton souls, unaccustomed to 'light'
preferred our lives lived as we thought right.