With every move I make, there's a mistake.
Mistakes so low, so low we can't even know.
Without knowing shit, I keep throwing it.
Throwing away my life, seems like the blade of a knife.
If the tip is dulled, anyone can be lulled.
Lulled into the trance that is happiness, but it's all linked to nastiness.
For my brain never seems to be truly happy, it's more so sappy.
Waiting out the darkest times, until it can joke with the simplest of rhymes.
But no matter how much I joke, I'll stay a sad old bloke.
Hiding from what's really inside.
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts
SaggisticaI've decided that I'm tired of keeping everything inside. This is me