Struggle is what I asked for, not pain
Clouds are what I dreamt of, not rain.
I sit here gaping at my situation.
How horrendous decisions can lead to malfunctioning and then termination.
I felt bad for what I did to you. I had you and then I misused you.
So here I go for one last time.
In truculence and rue, I spit this rhyme.
Immaturity is the word for the day. It’s like my third for the day. I'd rather become
Kurt Cobain. Will that help me blur the pain while I surge the rain and purge the strain. End up in my room all bloodstained.
All my logic and reason sound so mundane.
I'll lay down and hope that it's a Sunday.
Should have told you before, I don’t feel the same anymore. You pretended not to feel the pain anymore. Now it’s me who feels like the sluts, like those penny whores. They stay
for money. I stayed for penny roars; to build up my ego.
Well, life is like a free throw. I miss you sink and here we go. I sit here and write
this down while you enjoy the breeze on the seashore.
You won babydoll, and there we go.
Signing off for now.