I want to know, why I always want to know...
why I never have the answer, and that pressure tells me nothing
that pressure which takes away the air of my lungs, leaving me no blow
of life, of hope. why I never have more than that pain, that awful something
I'd prefer to have nothing at all... if all I can...
if all I can is this anxiousness, taking... all I have is that pain
taking my life, my hope, my words... I need a plan!
I need a fan to cool me down... I need a sign; one that's plain.
I can't move... I don't see where to go, no sign to say
I'm stuck in my position. writing is my only tool
but still... I can't think well enough... I can't find a way
I guess in the end of it all, they take me as a fool.
there are different types of anxiousness... some are pleasant and not at all
like this one.
::: back :::