You call that poetry?
Writing words down on paper that rhyme but don't make sense
You call that clarity?
Expressing thoughts with a voice so frustrated and tense
You call that love?
Conditional to a point where you lose free expression
You call that art?
Colours and feelings that have faded with the absence of passion
You call that humanity?
Where conformity is the needle and we shoot it up
Is it called insanity?
Where fear of failure is the bottle and we pour the cup
Is it called suicide?
Where we climb and climb so high only to jump from that height
Or maybe it's called Life
Because we draw closer, let go, and take a chance at flight