No one really cares how I feel
They pretend to listen but its not sincere
The faces they put on
To play the game
Fake emotions are their pawns.
No one is real
They all conform to a certain ideal
Unwritten rules govern how they act
Which is why they don't get off my back.
I need to talk so they smile and nod
They say go on, but their thinking about what is gonna be on
The tv in an hour.
But later in the day
They get mad at me for being down
So I just run away.
Run into the forest
A blade at my side
This world just f*ckin hates me
So why don't I lay down and die.
We are what we see
And we see what we are
And I see a world where hate and death flourish.
So why not exit the game
And become death to all.
They would come to my funeral
Tears spilling down their cheeks
How many really care
And how many are fake.
How many would go just to talk to my sister
And how many would go just so people think they care.
I'll spite those who want to seem sincere
I sheath my blade
They'll have to wait
I won't give them the pleasure
Of an opportunity to play without me.
Comments on this poem/writing:
|Mukhthar (184.108.40.206) -- Friday, October 28 2005, 05:55 pm|
If the world is giving you a hard time then it is fair that you hit back. I urge you to fight on, cuz revenge might be just around the corner.
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