It’s not the way you think it is,
This balance you created.
The way you handled all of this,
Is futile, lie, and overrated.
The meaning of this seeming bond,
Is frustrated rightly.
Especially how it dawned,
This next day and nightly
Sometimes I write poetry. Sometimes I write memories. Sometimes I write senseless dribble.
It’s not the way you think it is,
This balance you created.
The way you handled all of this,
Is futile, lie, and overrated.
The meaning of this seeming bond,
Is frustrated rightly.
Especially how it dawned,
This next day and nightly