The error of my ways,
My debt to pay.

I wish I had something wise to say.
But the words seem to fly away.
To write is to express myself,
But the words take a piece of my soul.
Giving and giving is all I ever seem to do,
I long to receive like I feel I rarely do.

These days I pour,
I swear my soul is sore.
I wish for a long and caring embrace,
But to my suprise fate seems to embarrass.
How long will I hold?
Will I ever get old?
Am I doomed to die or is the dice rolled in my favour?
I wish there was another flavour,
The only scent i can smell is a deathly savour.

As told before, to write is to express myself.

My emotions are bottled up, flankly, noone cares.
My heart dares,
My mind stares.
The two are not in agreement,
I wish they could make an arrangement.

I'm about to die.
Should I end myself?
Should I wait for the end itself?
Depression is a form of oppression
I swear my mind is having a concession.
I am living at par but not at peace.
I'm balanced enough but not steady.
Like I said, you don't care.

I'm not looking for your sympathy,
Spare me the empathy.
I know how the world works,
I've seen the mess it left.
At some point it chewed you too
Then you got up and showed what you can do.
They gave you the respect you deserved
Yours was a spot for the reserved.

That is your story.
Not mine.
Mine isn't tragic,
But it's not a work of Magic.
Uncertainty rules the field,
Just as confusion is the feud
Will the ground ever be level?
No!
The earth is round.
So, I'm going to come around.
I'll stop wondering about these wanderers.

Viva La Vida, says the painting that inspired the Man.
Well, I'll anchor my mind to my ankles.
Where the mind goes, there I will be.
I'll anchor this ship to my destination,
I'll sail in fascination.
A journey of self-worth and discovery,
I'll make sure to stage my recovery,
For all the time I've lost hoovering.

I wish I could bid you a happy ending
But mine is a life in need of Mending.
Take a mirror, look at yourself looking at you.
Tell me what you see, like, comment.


© billybm