What do you see, when you look at me?
As I stare at my palm, so passively.
Do you guess, like the rest,
that I’m searching to repress,
Yes, the pain that my brain can’t escape.
I still can’t escape all of you.
What to do?
Express and redress, amounts to running on ice.
Take a closer look, then.
It’s an obstacle illusion.
Full of pollution.
An act of contrition, my life’s mission.
An admission, with permission,
pull right, hard!
Decision making ability, impaired.
Fighting to fight, swinging at those in closest proximity.
Victimizing those that take the time to care.
At what cost?
I’m nimble and sober when taking the piss out of others,
somehow the mirror in my palm leads to denial.
Toll evaders eventually get caught,
even if they think they aren’t guilty.
In truth, the silt of guilt collects at the bottom,
but can never begin to fill the emptiness.