Its kinda strange,
My life seems to be designed by rage,
Leading me to clean them with a rhyme on a page,
A confession that has yet to be made,
Depression a main product from the rage
Or else ridicule a byproduct from the angery stage,
Life seems to be surrounded by being enranged
And the walls of this misleading cage,
And escape seems less an option
But an illusion that I opt in,
But no matter what I do theres no stoppin
Me from being locked in,
Almost as if there were no other emotions to compose in,
Any notion of otherwise, feels like im posing,
Not that I don’t see any belief
In being happy I just don’t feel relief
But sometimes the grief just don’t seem to leave
Other then when I’m deceived
But then backfire heave of reality comes to me
And it ain’t hard to see my mind can be a friend and an enemy