3200
Your voice belongs to pain
You conversations are at best pointless and offer little to gain
You've become a master of hiding hurt & you flirt with any ears that have mistakenly tuned in to your over exaggerated works
You're always willing to put on a show to an audience that paid no admittance fee; glorified self-adsorbed stories for absolutely free
Delusions of grandeur, self-impressed by manufactured lies & in the midst of all the who, what, when, where's & why's
The real question still remains, and that is, where does your true happiness lie
See we can see right through your bluff & we often wonder when will enough be enough?
Are you not tired yet, of communicating a over load of gibberish dialect
Because gibberish talk is all we can hear
A bunch of nonsense perpetuated by a hidden fear
A fear of silent thoughts, that somehow helps reveal a truthfulness that was unsought
The true "who am I" question
Followed by "I don't really know"
So in silence you're left still guessing
Guessing about a identity that went astray, lost in a world that's designed to take self away
So many are afraid to accept inner- self therefore they've become content with fronting by means of talking to dern much, in hopes of hiding a sad & depressed existence.
~BiggWhite~
