The way to see past
a forsaken haze,
I try to find the ability
to linger in a maze.
My mind echoes
with cryptic beats,
a soft padding of wondering feet.
Up and down,
I look around.
Not everything is made for me,
but everything is not as it seems.
On the brink of a hinge,
a distaste for sick revenge,
a sick pastime for the infamous fame.
I wear rose-colored glasses at night,
I don't have much to live for
ever since I found my name.

I fight to not let it bring me down,
I smile knowing I pass a mind.
To not have meant much,
it's a pleasure to be remembered.