Youth is wasted on the young,
when you live between shadow and soul.
For I am a stranger in this space,
and my life spirals like a loop in the brain.
Existence to some is simply dead weight splendor,
One’s daily sun goal aspires to cure.
Yet I realize all too often that All my friends are plastic,
It’s a free man’s revenge to see them suffer.
So when I wake to the deterioration of tomorrow’s existence,
You’ll recognize me by the cut of my clothes, beware the patient man.
For I have a fear of living,
When friendship, partnerships and life spiral in a prism of deceit.
It is man alone who laughs from afar as your mistakes are clearer with distance,
Could you not decipher my implicit content, I thought it was so obvious at times?
Putting up with your deceitfulness was Something Short of Sainthood,
Your advice, Throw Yourself Into Pain.
Dramatica, oh Dramatica, that’s your little nickname,
Using Words and Other Weapons to hurt those who gave you everything.
Let All the Fallen Rise, there is life after the insults, attacks and disrespect,
And as time goes by, thoughts Of Hatred and Ill Will, may subside.
Hopefully when you realize the Trees Bend South,