You are all the same,
I could have made you in my mother’s kitchen.
You’re as malleable as dough,
you’re as tie-able as ribbon.
Can’t you feel it in your chest?
Taste the breath that you’ve been given,
and don’t tell me that I’m wrong
or right when I’m just trying to live.
I’m only trying to find myself
subconscious maybe how it’s driven,
but I’m facing out the back
the frosted glass distorts the vision.
But I can see, you’re all the same
I don’t need second opinions,
you’re a file in a file
a bowl for someone else to shit in.
So how’s that taste inside your mouth?
The lies are rotting in your gum line,
ask a person to say please
while cutting out their tongue and teeth and I
am hoping I can leave
before the monsters get to me, oh,
how can you not see the beauty
in the imperfect in the broke?
Black and white
are always going to be the same
no one stays on the sides
they choose anyway.
What matters is not
what we let the time change,
but what pieces of ourselves we try to save.
What pieces will be left to blend with the grays?
What pieces have already faded away?
I’ll cry for you;
forced into the mold you became
even though I know you’d probably never reciprocate.
What’s my name?
Can you tell me or is your brain washed away?
The pressure’s warping your children
to sleep, shit, and think the same.
But you are all the same,
a white collared silver lining:
Hurricane inside my stomach
makes me sick, I see you blinded
by the power and the greed
sub miss the dreams once proudly shining
in the corner of your eyes
how I DESPISE
the thought of status.
Will you be so worried dear
when you are busy dying?
About a number in the bank?
How you gave up your spare time
to become something that you hate?
Held together, stitched of lies
of lust and pain and being fucked
they sent you searching for the diamonds
they had stolen from the rough.