2000
Why can't I commit or submit
to any kind of sure thing
in my existence.
There is no ideal, and
I think my love is fading,
and the filth still remains.
I must supplicate to make amends.
The blood pumping through my veins is full of torment.
Solid matters are polluted with insolence,
from years of confusion.
Missed chances,
passed promises,
and failed features.
I feel like staled bread, left out since the class of 1999 had their last lunch from high school.
Things just don't end right.
Why must I try, try, and try?
Is it because that's all I've perceived?
(I misinterpreted all and any needed information, I've ever needed to maintain a stable state of being, or any decent frame of mind.)
The matter is I've always seemed to have an influencing demeanor.
Though I can't seem to break my knack of being disconnected.
I'm shakey through any confrontation's, I'm always looking for
do's and don'ts,
ado ’s and want's,
news and hope's,
blues and vote's,
aye's and nay's.
Nigh, Nigh bring on the day that's where the struggles start,
and I'll try to do my part anyway.
