It is not really that simple.
All day you just call me mental.
I think I might just go grab a god damn pistol.
Cold steel barrels in my hand,
Hell, I can't even stand.
While I just pound this hard concrete and sand.
I am pacing these corridors in circles
it is making my damn head hurt,
Shit spinning around me,
this torture is always making it worse.
Hey, don't look at me as if I am the problem,
these little ants on the ground,
I just want to stomp them.
Fueling my insecurities, drinking down the potion.
Do I just sit here or throw it into motion?
Heck, what is all of this commotion?
It is not really that simple.
Contemplating my disappearance,
I am no more looking into the distance.
Why are you still here?
It is not like I am missing.
Oh, wait, wait, calm down with all this internal chatter,
voices telling me that I don't even matter.
Rising and falling off of life's external ladder,
trying to look in the future,
hold on, it is making me a little madder!!!
I need to see this through
and just meditate.
Wait one minute, my pills over there on the counter,
should I just medicate?
Contemplate, hesitate, or it is too late?
It is not really that simple.
Kinda crazy how it sounds.
Back on the hard concrete and sand.
I see myself, right here.
Clearly as I stand,
breathing and seeing
my life's simple plan.