I work the ink to design what most deny
Melancholic state, deep seeded dirty sides
You try to hide it behind your lies
But it’s my voice that screams your cries
Like a battle war-ing up inside your minds
Too afraid to embrace that it takes all kinds
Like only yours is the virtuous all others’ blinds
Too afraid to seek in, fearing of those finds
A pen to paper, fingers to the keyboard
Words constructed, vocalized for hoards
Come hop on I promise you won’t be bored
Conformity to factuality cannot be ignored
Your oblique existence,no longer stored
Good versus evil screaming nevermore
Could you put it all out there, willing to hit the floor?
Or do stand back pointing, keeping your”split self”behind closed doors?