In fits of rage and fury, with fists bruised and broke,
We clashed in thund’rous lightning, but forgot what we spoke.
I tried to be the big man, to be better than the rest,
But “better” isn’t what you wanted…you already liked me best.

I said, and said, and said; but you saw what wasn’t spoken.
Now my heart is bruised and ******; my soul is spent and broken.
Now I bleed upon this page, in inky fits of rage and sorrow;
And scare away the security I put into tomorrow.

What good is life to live, when those things you crave are rotted?
How well can man behave when his life is blacked and spotted?
What fate is overcome from picking just the best?
What gives us rights to toss aside…abandon…all the rest?