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A man less ordinary,

A child more the same.

Cryptic in writing,

Clearer in thought.



No one understands.

The hurt I feel.

I made someone cry?

It kills me inside.

Yet I’m crying everyday.

Does it kill you?



A fog clouds the words in which you read.

You try to understand the meaning behind it.

Yet even I can't think of one.

It's only me,

Nothing amazing,

Nothing ordinary,

Just a sentimental man.



And that’s all,

You look deeper,

And something is there.

It's there and everyone asks me about it.

Yet even "they" say I don't feel.



I’m a guy...

What kinda guy feels...

What kinda guy cries...

Just a sentimental man.



Sentimental?

Or insane?



It’s hard,

Try to decide,

Maybe you should decide for me?

But how can you without all the facts.

How can I, without giving them to you.



I’m cryptic in talk,

I’m mysterious in writing.

Hiding a dark veil,

Can't see me in the fog.

What is it?

A normal guy who doesn’t give a fuck...

Or something more,

Something more mature,

Something more grown up,

Something more what an adult should be,

Something more me.