Unseasonable
I really don’t know why I still try.
The fate of a loser is simply to die.
Glory to those who get used to all this. When I draw my last breath,
there’s nothing I’ll miss.
Lessons learned, but not in school.
They couldn’t turn me into a tool.
I chose a poem called Freedom.
But the taste of the system never leaves.
The sooner you break,
the easier you’ll fake.
The clown is inside, ready to fight.
With his round fake nose, his big flappy shoes, and his red smiling lips, he throws his jokes in the mix.
No friends, no life,
no happiness, no wife,
no job, no bills, no distraction
—the cost of freedom is rejection.
My loneliness keeps a firm grip.
I don’t know why I kept trying.
Was it the fear of taking off or flying?
One final embrace
before she’s on her way.
One final embrace?
I could die today.