If you wanted to play The game of remember when I could take it And repeat it Using only egg whites And orange slices Only to discover This may never get better.
I've read the pamphlet upside down From side to side And still continue to find myself With semi open eyes Not sure where, the tide rose Between the hermit ***** That nestled and woke me From a doe eyed slumber To say, it was all meant to be Incredibly challenging.
It's the victim hood The beating yourself into a pseudo Fake courage Filled with paraphrased words You took from the gutter That artists before Have worn like old scarves Only to then sell them at a yard sale For a penny or a whole dollar more.
I wrote on the walls I encouraged you too as well I've always been one to raise the moon.
It's why the fields are always left A little dry from one side Once I've built my log cabin And decided That the corn had turned rotten.
I wrote you some poems Made some art too Played your mama, your sister, your coach, your lover Only to then Grow past you too.
The confusing emotion You drown yourself with it I've heard you before It's the victimization And ruminating on the floor The endless vent sessions Where you remain idle And frantic For why I've gotta be brave enough To shut my own door.