Emo. One slow step at a time.

With words that you mumble incoherently
As glazed , unfocused eyes scan the ceiling
For their share of the heavens
And waiting for their moment
To call it their own, ego and duty collide.
So that lesser men can toy with their idle fantasies
Or for greater beings to lose themselves to sweet sweet sleep
Then , like the italics that crown your current plight
They give it special attention, some try to shed some light
Giving the impression that you are very wrong
That somehow , somewhere, you should be kept aside
Where pleading not guilty is commonplace
Where legendary confrontations , reside.
So what gain , barring monetary , do they seek
To quell my rising tidal wave ? My puddle of water isn't deep
Or meekly pose as one of my other fetish dolls
Further adding noise and poison to my orchestra
Which , by the way dear friends, is missing a beat.
On this shallow pool of mud that represents my sleep.