Poetic boys, don't let em catch you slipping, don’t get hurt, the depth of one’s love, the depth of wounds of later moments, it’s contraband, can’t feel anything, when will I learn?
The shame is coming, with eyes wide open, holding onto to dear life, I should of stayed calm, but I’ll run into self-destruction when in vulnerability, asking question to what's the matter?
When it gets real, I’ll sabotage, when I push away, I want to say sorry, but silence is the reply, wishing I could let people inside.
To when I see someone, with the heart of a soldier, with the brains to teach a whole nation, I want to lay until the sun rises, the essence of a muse, nothing else I pull into frame & display with such shame, than the totality of my own flaws & left lonely.
Whoever said the struggle will stop today,
mystics get shot everyday,
while they’ve got money for war, but can’t feed the poor.
I’m obsessed of satisfying with creative temperament to a dormant & quiet people, it feels that no one can accept both of my own duality. Straight from the start, speaking truth, even if its hate in return, spitting from dark, it’s poetic, after the show, one sits alone & ignored. Late nights, bright lights, lust & lies, loading in the limousine, with people’s hands hand but no-one is giving out, can I really blame people for trying to get what they can? I might lose my soul, but who knows what I’ll find? I’m blessed to know another, hoping in return I can do the same.