Self-destructive mental malfunctioning machine.
But yet I still subsist, but why?
Am I coward or fool- or both?
Sometimes I wonder what a revolvers bullet bursting propelled through my arm would feel like,
sometimes I see colors, shapes, things that aren’t there,
my precious memory has been had,
my inner demon speaks to me in my dreams,
but I always forget.
I try to dust off my anxiety’s but they’re rooted deep,
someone once shouted “You Must Change Yourself,”
lethargic conditioning disrupts this frequency,
every word that comes out my mouth sounds like poetry to me,
exhilarated by my mouths energetic motor,
loving words and sounds,
I guess then loving life,
but always in vain.