The words you write, you're going blind,
You hide away, leave light behind.
Your world’s gone dull, it lacks a shine,
How much of truth will you define?
You beg for answers from above,
But guilt is not what gods are made of.
You did it all, don’t mask, don’t fake —
Refuse the lie, or let it break.
Be kind, be bold, begin to see,
The mirror’s cracked — the fault is me.
You bury night to chase the time,
But still the sun will rise at nine.
You found the page but lost the pen,
You try to start and stop again.
You call it luck, you hope it shows,
But talent hides where no one knows.
You write, you dream, you paint her face,
But words won’t earn a lover’s grace.
No rhyme can pull her into crime,
No line can cross that sacred line.
Still here you stand, a voice confined,
A life half-lived, a heart resigned.
Inside this shell, thoughts twist and wind —
This is your cursed poet’s mind.
What a ****** up mind.
