A touch of confusion
Merrily mixed with
tiny blobs of salt water
Escape these lids to gloat
In a sort of misunderstood freedom
Everyone seems
To have moved on
Yet here I still am
Painfully, still shakespeare
In my terribly willowy ways
The room laughs at my plight
As I set my sight
On the revolving fan once more
Aching for some comfort
Amidst the soft sheets
The perfection all around me mocks
Itself once more
Because here I still am
A product of love,
Crying in shakespearian
With nobody to understand me
The goodness of my heart
Spews only outrage
At the perfect artists
Painting through their perfect misery
And their hurtful strokes
Still attempting to capture my essence
Tonight I set them all on fire
For they don't belong
To have a place
In my shakespearian heart
That only bellows in hurt
Instead of rage
