Writings of a Phobophobe.
Cash we seek;
Glory we chase,
But man, I’d tell you that’s just surface.
Even with all the success
But our hearts misplaced,
It’ll be real doom
No matter what we taste.
But that’s really just a peek
At the consequence we’ll face.
“We want happiness,”
And that’s all we say.
Look at us now —
Alive but dead.
What do we have now?
“Blindness to kindness,” I’d say.
Clank.
Another one of those hearts got broken.
Aching through the flanks,
Alone and solemn.
Me and you against the world,
Seems like it was just an old folk tale,
When there are ones against your fleur,
Hands in the pocket no matter bail or jail.
Can’t you see
You should let me be?
Before I flee,
Just set me free.
Held captive by twines of the city,
All we needed was our minds at liberty.
Going double
It spells trouble.
Son of a gun,
They call it fun.
Evil is love
Masked as a dove.
Twisted fate
And undying hate.
Left at the end,
A broken heart to mend.
Grabbed some gin,
And tobacco by tins.
Going for a spin,
After an awful din.
All I wanted was to win,
Gambling was my only sin.
Lost it all, not even a lint
Left for me, no hopes to pin.
I leapt – all I saw was blue and green,
“Drink like a fish,” says Jim Beam.
Forgetful I am, of yesterday’s dreams
I’m now just a fish without a fin.
Desperate and unable to swim,
Repaying my debt, my life cost a mint.
The last of my grin,
Now gone with the wind.
Issues on a roll,
We’re on all time low.
I said,
“There’s still some rice on the bowl.”
He said,
“Don’t let the food run cold.”
Now we will go real slow,
But baby, we will reach our goal.
He said I’m cold,
But he made a mistake.
It’s a blow,
The things said were fake.
It has taken a toll,
The past has been raked.
I don’t know,
How long it’s going to take.
But don’t let that doubt grow,
For goodness sake.
I’m not cold,
And I’ve no hate.
Please let him know,
Before decisions are made.
‘Cause when I go
Through the exit gate,
It’ll be three hours or so,
To the relationship’s wake.
A spell you threw my way,
Oh, I remembered that day.
Triggered my mental disarray,
Oh, now you gotta pay.
It was the first week of May,
Back when I was still gay.
It was crazy in a way,
That was before you got away.
Nervous and sensitive,
You were short-fused.
Naive and innocent,
I was easily amused.
Me and you,
We had overnight deals.
Deliberately obtuse,
That I felt for you.
The layers you peeled,
They’ve yet to fully heal.
You were my muse,
But I was a mere cheap thrill.
