Under layers that cannot be seen.
I hear your frustrations scream.
Exposing crimson veins, symbolizing the loathe you burry inside.
Out loud it is denied,
Confidentially in search for a shelter to hide.
From the smallest shade of olive green leaves and petals,
To gigantic grey boulders.

Its goal is never satisfied.
“Look in my eyes, you can tell I ain't never scared
Poppin' them thangs, I'm rockin' my chain anywhere”
But,
How far will your feet stomp across the concrete?
Keeping your anger discrete.
Your feelings maybe locked in your heart.
But it’s not a body, it’s not human like us.

See,
Any day we can get bodied.
But your anger is a spiritual form of skin.
Waiting to be bandaged by the ears of somebody.
Don’t display your bravery like it’s sincere.
Matter of fact come here.

Let me look you into the windows of your soul.
Let your tears become Windex,
So I can see clear.
As I cry and mourn with you.
While I cut through more layers.
I’m not a savior,
Simply because I need a prayer too.

But I will never play you.
I will ride until the commands of a Master Sargent orders the 21 gun salute.
Just as if our skin was super glued.
Yes, this is deep.
But please don’t tell me you are relieved.

When even the tone your voice is in grief.
Please let your  guard be weak.