The universe makes random jokes Like, to know me is a curse My personalities make it worse.
The introvert in me is ugly painted with gloomy clouds, stalking demons in the alley loves to mourn as a firstborn sick With numb eyes flick, tears don't exist anymore.
The extrovert in me is silly painted with colours people never been seen, his smile is flawless and always wander around clueless about why he smiles.
The **** in me is a song or people like to call it wrong, a yearlong gong he writes 'lol' in people's wall with a fluffy cloud inside his brain, it reads tetrahydrocannabinol, notorious for his vocabulary, can **** with an epistolary.
The Dib is a broken rib, spoon-feed bib He writes out of syllabus with sketchy nib, runs in a solo trip his life says 'rofl'.
More of me than one mind. More of me than one heart. More of me than one soul. Less of me, just one part. Love is good. Love is bad. I can't decide if I'm happy or sad. If there's more of me than one, than perhaps I'm just mad. Crazy to think I could finally find sanity. I lost myself looking. I'm my own enemy. Who I am now is just a darker version, of the man I once was... Another person. Sometimes I hate you, and others, I don't. I think I love you, but I really don't know.