Inferiority Complex withholds goals.
The fear of failure averts gold!

My voice will ne'er begin to sing
Songs with grace that operas bring.
My hands will ne'er begin to draw
Portraits of the utmost raw
Of feelings.
Reelings of a film un-made
Left in my mind as shades of grey
That will indubitably blend
To make nothing.

I wish to make amends,
though shades of grey have doomed me.
My pessimism consumes me,
but I wish to make amends.
I guess it all depends
If the Talents fly back home
To visit me again.

A measly mind that falls behind
Every waking day.
Machinery grind and workers lined,
But no product made.

A CEO with a gusto
Simply at his desk.
Books all around, all leather bound,
Instead stays grotesque.

My dreams shall never be
Here, in reality, with me,
But instead stuck in pretend,
In the worlds developed
Inside my mind while I sleep;
Outshined and behind
The dreams of others,
My ambitions and goals
Remain in submission
In the subconscience of my mind;
Remain behind, my dreams of gold,
Never to be let out to shine;
Remain behind, these dreams of old,
Always to be resigned.

I see those around me continue on with their important lives.
I see through spectacles them wanting to return to wives
And daughters and sons and husbands who all strive
To make the best out of the life given to them, and
To improve on it even further. I see through slurs
And drunken murmurs and I do not understand
Why they are given the opportunities I am not.
Am I not worthy? Am I deserving of my rot?
I see those around me continue to live
As I wait for my life to finally end,
For the flicker of my lament
To be freed of the cement
That glue my shoes
To the ground;
And finally...
*Ascension.

These walls can not fortify
Like they once could;
They can not protect me
From the outsiders
And they can not protect
The outsiders from myself.
Spears have been thrown
And rocks chucked,
but nothing has been able
to topple this fortress
like what has happened on this day.

The borders of these bricks
Are beginning to crumble.
I hope that, beyond these mumbles,
I have words that will make me fixed.

These little things I care for
Will mean nothing when I'm gone;
They won't cast a new dawn
Onto these people I adore.

Yet I care, and I do so more
When I'm escaping from my life.
I listen to my music and wife
As we both remain poor.

"Welcome, sir!" "How do you do?"
"What you like a bag with that?"
I hand the bag to a man of fat,
Surprised he can fit through the door,
Surprised he didn't crack the floor,
My hatred for man continues.

I arrive at my abode
And continue these little things;
O' the happiness they bring!
I can feel my life corrode...