Rip these thoughts from me...
As I am an idiot.. this is how I'm seen
oblivious and desperate, cold and unforgiving.
For a moments paused injection of truth and severity,
I fall back.. into the time when I felt this day arriving.
A shivering frustration is the definition of my prose
Complicated by feelings and secrets closed.
Why can ignorance not fall fast upon my mind?
Why cannot truth truly hide?
Why do I suffer by the hand of intuition?
Why can I not leave these behind, and pretend I was dreaming?
Such abstract conditions do not hold silence,
There is always something that shines slightly brighter.
And in these cryptic, yet plainly true feelings
Someone may find, the true meaning of my bleeding.