if you stop
and wait long enough,
you can see my life build itself up.
going through the industrialization of happiness.
things seem to be looking up.
and then slowly
one worker slips
it's over extended itself on building up.
the resources are gone.
then they all start to.
it seems that war
inner and outer conflict; turmoil
has become the rival, t
he other power
versus the good.
it's black or it's white.
that seems to be my life.
there is no grey.
i'm not mysterious.
i'm not magical.
i'm not the face everyone inspects
not the voice everyone listens to.
it seems to be like a cold
(depression that is)
crawling back at unsuspecting times of my life.
reaching out to the light and strangling it.
i suppose you would try to understand.
maybe even try to help.
but in the end
like the industrialization of my happiness
your loyalty will crumble as well,
and i'll be left to my own devices.
and they're not dull.