"why don't you want me to be happy?"
i ask, or plead,
beg.
though, i don't know who
i'm speaking to.
such hostility, i line my words with
concrete edges,
hardened, like the docile statue i feel
i now resemble.
and i stay confused;
unsure of who it is that i am to resent.
everyone is a barricade,
and every pale limb of mine,
or yours,
is just another chain, with a lock
and a key,
that nobody wants me to find.
under your tongue, in your throat,
in your fucking pathetic mind.
you give me trails with dead ends
or none at all,
because you want me to remain lost.
and i swear,
that if you place one more brick on top of
the weak foundation which you created,
you moulded,
and you left,
i certainly will collapse.
