I love a lot of things,
But nothing compared to seeing people happy.
I love to see people smile,
I love to make people smile.
But I'm never really happy,
And my smile is mostly faked.
Seasons that went,
A lot happened, but
Truth be told,
The future holds even more
Events that await the wrong clock to happen.
Because always,
Every bad thing happen at the wrong time.
But what to do,
I tell myself that it don't really matter.
And time has proven that,
As i fool myself into believing a lie,
Effectively,
I deal with what I can't control.
If only I had a listening ear,
I wouldn't stay up all night
Starring at my phone and hoping
That someone would come through
And listen to my heart's mixtapes.
But no one came,
So i overanalyzed
The phrases my heart told.
All alone,
I heard the devil's whisper,
A sign that it might never be alright.
And my demons talked as well,
Constantly reminding me of my loneliness,
Talking down on me,
A life i don't deserve,
Or maybe i deserve because
It's shity as hell.
Maybe, i cared too hard
But attempting to gather courage,
I jailed all emotions
Telling myself it's just a bad dream,
That I'm not lonely, even though,
I pray for just a second
To feel the warmth of my own love
Or maybe by chance, equally returned love.
Mostly, i stayed locked up,
Avoiding my friends for weeks,
The only consistency i have,
Or maybe they're just friends,
Friends on rental basis
With borrowed emotions
Because real friends are supposed
To see beyond facade
But who cares
I cater for myself instead.
I drown every feeling,
Learnt to love not feeling,
And found comfort under my own skin.
I am consoled by drinking liquor,
Bottled love with dashes of alcohol,
A better way to talk to sorrow,
Politely, i give it drive away tips.
I hit it suddenly,
With no warning, i
Turned it into an old rum,
Incredibly difficult to swallow,
But it slowly rolled out,
With no ryhme but reasoning,
Like clear clouds after a storm.
I jailed being sad,
Easy peasy,
Trying true tips that tied solitude,
Dropped digging deep and died in doom,
And beating the blues to bloom,
With a bottle of punk rock vodka,
In a room that is holly jolly
While overlooking the value in a good cry.
Fuck scientifically proven,
I am emotionally proven evidence,
That crying your eyes out
Isn't particularly guaranteed to make you happy,
While you pay for counseling services,
Because regardless of it's triggers,
Distraction keeps a good font.
©me.just.me
M