Thoughts

I tell myself, They love you, and you gone make it I know it's a lie, I know it ain't truth, so why do I fake it? They say, "you can't get love if you don't give it" I tell myself, I seen many with no love-- this is bullshit-- Receive Love as they captivate the world in their hands. Many say, "family first", so why ain't I first ? I swear to God my heart wants to burst But Imma keep it Playa, covered with layers, until I make it, then I won't have to worry about " To Love or be Loved is the Question? " This cold-hearted syndrome might make something out of me, since this warm-loving one couldn't seem to make em listen. So listen up, when I'm gon, or when I die don't worry about me, I couldn't make y'all hear me when I was here so please forget me, Don't sing, don't cry, don't plead with God. Just let me die, just like you let me die on the inside. Nothing suicidal about this ideation, just the truth placed in words instead of hieroglyphics. So tell my shrink ain't no condition described to make this scientific. Forget about me, like you forgot about my people, like you forgot about my illness, like you forgot about my soul, like you forgot about self control. Control. Control what I feel, control how I feel This numbness in my body, dumbness of my spirit, searching out to find you. Huh, I guess some thoughts never really make it pass. Pass. Pass. Pass the mind of the sober writer.