I never get complained of you,
I never get the blames,
I never get heard of you,
Burns me up in flames.
The soul is still yours,
Flows with the idea, it pours.
I'm nothing, I'm a frame,
You be the artist, come up, give me your name.
Is the sanity present?
Or has it been swayed?
You be the child, I'll be a parent,
Talk of insanity? - Somewhat inherent.
I'm cool and I'm free,
'Cause your soul can't be mine, it'll spree.
Still, I give it a chance,
And, turn me in a state of trance -
When it's done.
It isn't a promise,
It's a commitment,
I'll steal your soul away,
I'll make it mine,
I'll have you - someday.
YOU ARE READING
Chaotic Rhymes.
PoetrySometimes, you might write some junk, in the middle of the night. All you've got to do is, grab a pencil and a paper, and scribble. Who knows, one day, you might compile the bits, and name them as 'your work'. It's the result of the same actions. Wr...
