Things get stranger with a pen.
I’m already estranged by my grin,
More of a stranger than a friend.
Obviously, my thoughts wear you thin.
Sometimes, I’m a lonely mess, and then
I speak out, with my heart held in hand.
These anxious feelings start rising again,
I’m no longer a soldier playing pretend.
It’s like living with a haunting sin
When in the room you’ve always been,
The one that fears live and multiply in;
Your sanity in a box marked, “The End.”
Things get stranger with a pen,
And madness speaks from within.