“Really, man, you must be sick
There comes a point, you must admit
The facts are out of wiggle room
You know you need to quit…”
“Really, man, it must be hard
As unrequited as you are
The truth has popped all your balloons
You’ve clearly gone too far…”
“Really, man, what is your deal?
Do you not want your cuts to heal?
You pick the scabs – reopen wounds
You’ve lost grip on your wheel…”
Honestly, I know the truth
Fat lady singing, “What’s the use?”
I spiral round – and needless swoon
Like one who loves abuse
But don’t they say to “stand and fight
For what you want, til end of life”?
I’m not one known to change my tune
Or swiftly yield to strife