I'm the opposite of love, the length of hate and its eight sides;
Why even try this dance of flowers gone, my inner floral beauty taken - on one side;
I’m angry – not any better – curved - not a straight line;
My head hurts like suffering or failing for the first time.
All my wonderful is sticky with depression – dizzy violets in white smoke;
I haven’t been sleeping, twisting clouds sticking perfume in my thoughts and hopes;
Loud shouting headache, these feelings jumping for advice provoked;
This is terrible and I’m in the dumps (bad music), a declining slope.
I think it’s like this all the time, my youth peeling off like an orange peel;
I’m thinking of seeing a psychologist or calling a help-line so that I can feel;
When I breathe, sunlight worries half-grin shining in a solar wheel;
Why is it that I can never be, fatal caught in barbed wire steel.
Separated and taken apart, trouble shooting in a vase of uselessness;
These feelings unbalanced and not very sharp, dull poison (venomous);
This moment is a waking high, giving pound to that aortic spot,
I have this job – the voice behind it – is like noise and a crowded lot.
