Suppressed, depressed, much stress
on my chest, missing my breaths.
I frown as I drown and I’ve lost my crown,
so while I fall down I seem like a clown.
I’m the problem that I need to face
and I’ve been going at a non-existent pace.
So when my heart breaks,
does it make a sound?

Above the surface, wrath lays with reality
and doves are displaced by calamity.
Blood in my mouth, thoughts sprayed with profanity,
hugging anger in sight, when I face my vanity.
Nudged by neglect, hoping to stray from insanity,
I look to bud into the tenets of humanity.

I commend those who resist the immense desire
to liberate their anger as a friendly fire,
but with wrath, I could mend my pain.
My eyes come into nothing of vain
as this disdain leaves my bane stained.

My words fell on the deaf ears of my peers,
so when the smoke clears, I’m free from fears.
The isolation doesn’t feel foreign
so why feel for him? Why peel for him
fruit when he has no labor yet whims?
I'll take my broken heart by the hems,
a heart that lives apart, with lights dimmed,
and make it harder without barter as I’m born again.