I've heard people are strange
When you're a stranger
A lesson learned
Only as you grow older

Faces look ugly
When you're alone
My past proves
No one pays no mind to what's shown

They say women seem wicked
When you're unwanted
My truth is I've wasted
All the time allotted

Streets are uneven
When you are down
Seemingly impossible
To find solid ground

The strange
Have faces they hide in the rain
It's strange
Couldn't be bothered to remember my name

Are you strange?
Am I strange?
What is straaaaaange?

©2024

whatever i do
will always waste my life away
at least that's what you say.
i guess you managed to sway
me onto your side.
because i'm not doing anything i want
to do at this point.
you've made me use another font
to write my life
instead of the messy handwriting
that i'm supposed to use

Everything is momentary to a monumental failure;
Monetizing the currency to a means of life
All in the means of life being momentaneous of one’s strife
And it honestly takes a lot of strife, to inspire my own self
To continue on to write — some days, it feels like it’s all coming
To be my very last moment, of forcing myself to inspire
Someone; anyone willing to connect through the wire
Building fences around the ideas we all seem to like:

We all like to be heard; as countless failures to listen
We all like to be anchors of advice; less the ones to gain wisdom
We all like the appeal of more life; dead cold to life’s experiences
We all like the good cards we’re dealt; but would prefer the odds
Of ourselves being the one’s quietly dealing it
We all like the idea of a superhero; something that supersedes faith
We all like the hope of us being connected by love; but what’s
A wicked heart, if it doesn’t sometimes love to hate

Everything we try to do, everything forced into my eyes
Shows me everything we want to do, is often just a waste.

I sit in this empty room
But I'm not the only one in here
I went and let my demons out
They produce then they feed on my fear
Been here many times before,
More times than I can ignore
I won't shed another wasteful tear
What good's all this crying for?
Both my tear ducts are sore
And it's the same year after year after year

©2024

A fumblin, bumblin'
Waste of skin husband
No one's going with me,
I mean him,
As an option
*** happened?
A premature has been
Similar to the ******* situation
Uh,
So I've heard people sayin'
Get the list of con's reigned in
A list of pro's has never been
Mention every sin in confession
But where to begin
Actually, here's a better question,
Would it even matter in the end?
Let's see what happens when I,
I mean he,
Begins to pretend
If faked long enough can it change the trend,
Or push it all beyond the mend?
Uhhhh, of course, you know,
I'm actually askin' for a friend...

©2024