How others react when all goes to hell
So much about their character does tell.
How they act when things are going well though
Much more of their true character does show.
How one interacts daily with others
Of their character is a true measure.

There was a man, he had his hour.
It came upon him late one night.
From the darkness of his room,
he heard a call so faint and slight.

He felt a tug down deep inside.
He knew that he would have to go.
Moving swiftly for the door,
all his actions seemed to flow.

Down the streets two blocks, then left.
Up the corner, now take a right.
Mechanically he moved through town.
He had no time to waste tonight.

Finally he’s at the place.
Going in, split-seconds pass.
The robber sees him, waves a gun;
“now put ‘em up or lose your ***!”

He fails to do and so he gets,
A gun aimed and set to go.
He hits the floor, the gun it shoots
The robber reacts much too slow.

He missed our man, but shot the wall.
The bullets bounce where they came
The robber somehow shot himself.
That god he had such careful aim.

And now, it over, our hero stands;
How fate may great a wondrous treat.
You see our man came not to tempt his fate.
What he came for was a bite to eat.

I stare at my four walls
If there was a speech bubble where would it fall?
Sometimes I think I am cartoon character on TV.
Waiting for the script to become the real me
Sometimes the world steals my ideas
Sometimes I can't grasp reality from my fears
Tears form to loneliness of which we were born
It's the storm of the monologue which yearns to escape us
The people who berate us, hate us probably are jealous
Of our strangeness.

There is a type of admiration
Which transcends love
My friend's dad
A man with a mustashe
And an honesty
To tell the truth
In stories of the past
And laugh wholeheartedly
At comical remarks
A confidence.

It is a love which is different
It is a respect
A desire to understand
And peer into
Rather than touch
The edge of his garment

A patriarchel dominance
Both strict and calm
Which portrays a godlike figure
Like a wise old man from the east
Except he's from Namibia
And he's been divorced

But I admire him
Like a soldier admires his superior
It is a love which is not love
It is admiration
Of a character

How strange, a man who could choose to love, but hated instead. Himself most of all. What a pity it was, but that's not what he wanted, right?
He wanted their forgiveness, not their pity. Forgiveness for not being enough. But they thought they saw right through him, they know his ways. And he would agree.
   He's a writer after all, he would say. It's in his nature to dislike himself to the point of ignorance. But when does an act become nature? When does this character he has created become apart of who he is? Or was it that way all along?

A person who wants nothing, never can be bought
A person who won't fight, never can be fought
A person who doesn't lie, never can be caught
A person who won't play the game, never can be used
A person who dosen't cheat, will always pay his dues
A persons who never thinks, can never have any views
A person who dosen't care what you think, will never leave you confused
A person who has nothing, they will never lose
Tell me dear friend, what kind of person are you

of us ain't looking for the best
rather than greener pastures we settled for artificial  tuff
we left the fight for the best to the rest
for we have realised sometimes enough is enough

You can’t hear my screams through this house’s thin walls
I can’t reach the shore in your paper lifeboat
You can’t pull me up as I drown while afloat
I can’t help but by this spiralling stairwell be enthralled

I leap over, hurtling towards the water beneath
Blood splatters on the walls, crimson swirls in the sea
You scrub the water coarse, trying to strain the impurity
But my wounds are still open; they continue to bleed

The cycle keeps repeating, as history tends to
You’re tired of all this melodrama that keeps unfolding anew
You think it’s all rehearsed, that it is not impromptu
So I perform behind closed doors, waiting for your cue

During the entr’acte, I wait in the dark
The spotlight’s gone out, the character has not
I have been typecast in this role for too long
It’s become second nature so I play along