I'm sorry, but the world is yours

sometimes, I feel like I've
gone
and there's an air of disrepair
for no reason I know of

subtly betraying: my eyes
describe my scenery, but
leave me to trust them
blindly

and secretly
I tremble in the dark,
out of fear and the cold.
always the cold

pariahs represent populous
demands mandating the demoralization
of ostrich-necked overseers
gleaning our knowledge
in a clandestine gait

and suddenly
I'm sacrificing loud
like cough drops failing
and we grew and we grow

everytime I ask,
there's no one
there to answer
me

everything is so
tormented and confusing
and I wonder
if anything will ever make sense
again

'til then I'll be singing melodies
and I'll be making remedies
taking cares, precautions and
protecting myself from the daylight's cruel glare

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