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Poetic Prison of Your Opinion
These flaws lead irreversibly to me,
The thoughts that I can't seem to write,
lead to my artistic regression.
I never percieved to decieve lyrically, the insanity on your sleeve.
I mean, surely,
I could achieve rhetorical expression,
without asking your ears to listen,
and it pains me deeply
to think that my success depends on your opinion,
since you can't write your way out of a crossword puzzle. Meanwhile I paint dreams,
on blue lined paper,
with with ink and tears
It seems to me to be,
the irony of expression,
your interpretation is my reality,
so I am held captive in your poetic prison,
until you listen...
