Melancholy
I often can’t decide
whether or not I like
stupid, strange, suspicious
people.
People make me crazy.
People are impossible to even begin to understand.
People make me crazy.
People are atrocious.
People make me insanely, indescribably crazy.
Yet, people are the beauty of,
people are the point of
Life.
Manipulated,
do I see what is real, or what I want to see?
Misguided,
lost beyond hope of return.
Melancholy,
is all I know.
I have wasted my days
day dreaming about the
reason I am always
thinking.
Thinking makes me crazy.
Thinking that I am just a mere victim of my own goddamn thoughts.
Thinking makes me crazy.
Thinking is giving in.
Thinking makes me dangerously, distressingly crazy.
Yet, thoughts are the essence of,
thoughts are what keep us
Human.
Manipulated,
do I see what is real, or what I want to see?
Misguided,
lost beyond hope of return.
Melancholy,
is all I know.
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