Feeling isolated,
sometimes
i don't feel as though I'm the type to make it
angsty anxious
soul sedated
so I type to make it

self described as the greatest
self described overrated
self prescribed medication
self denies that exploitation

this could be the "realest **** i ever wrote"
yet its honestly nothing more than mental notes
reminders that I'm not dead yet
remind me when I'm dead, yet
come find me when my head's set
solidly on my shoulders

don't know why I'm so sick of being HERE...
my mental state's constantly all over

I'm often sought for "good advice"
often thought of "being right"
"living life"
well
while you whisper "listen" without thinking twice
I whimper at the thought of life
misheard, disregard me in the spotlight
cuz... dawg... my soapbox full of termites..

don't wanna preach to the choir
don't wanna talk to the congregation
and I'm sure with all these blunts I'm facin
I'm bound to be famous
isn't that how it works...?
or am i..
bound to be facin
blunt truths
and
those famous cliches
we love to hate

why I'm sending love every which way?
when that love always comes back as a switchblade?
that cuts so deeply
given a forewarning, yet left in dismay, as to say
"now this may hurt..."
"but learned lessons..-"
-THEY DON'T LESSEN ****
my scars have stories but trust me, being scarred is a different story
I'm still sore where that passion burnt

lately I've been wondering if writing is rather vain work
combined with this lack of passion its got me questioning my body and whether veins work
or not
regardless when you blowing wind; you should know my weather vane works
a lot
but most of the time
i try to find
justifications
to my observations-
"-yoooooo everyone deserves a second chance b"
but I'm simply asking
how long do your seconds last?, see
the last time I was "stuck in the moment"
I grasped on tight and tried to slow it,
but there's no escaping the fact
that things come and go
seasons change
from summer sun to falling leaves and rain, then snow
...
listen... falling leaves a back broken..
but while lying there staring
blank into the dimly lit ceiling
snapped in half,
i realized that
the hardest part about the ego and letting go
is having to say, "sorry i was just stuck in the past.."

what kinda **** is that.....