My actions were ones of fury,
Yet they were frank and honest,
That time I asked you to leave it alone,
You kept pressing on it,
Your stubborn head wanted answers,
While I waited for my boiling blood to be chilled,
I wanted nothing but to be there for you,
But you were so against the idea of it,
As if I were to turn left,
You would've snapped my neck,
I don't want to be an enemy but you've made me leap into the breach,
Now I stand,
With a pile of paper and pens,
Wondering if what I did was an act of fury or integrity,
I don't feel remorse,
But I do feel sorrow,
To what I have yet to know,
And I wish for you the best,
But then again I wonder if I do,
You'll twist my words,
To ones of falsification,
And I find myself wonder if I even bother,
To give you a fraction of time,
After all,
You threw me out the window,
As if I was a piece of paper that's redundant,
And I'm left with a song of words unspoken.