I lay open before you like a book who’s every page speaks of the hypocrite that is me,
And true to that pet name, from human that I am, the human that I was, I start to turn into a zombie.
I talk and I talk but nothing is being said.
I speak a language with no meaning; I speak a language of the dead.
I see the delusions created by my mind.
A child’s play of the make-believe, it is here I lay, I lay confined.
Ignoring all else, I listen to only my favourite channels on the radio.
I paint them colourful those dreary walls and for the moment it sizzles and sparkles with them lights aglow.
I speak of happiness, I feel not in my soul,
I probably can’t afford it; I am living on the dole.
I shed a silent tear that goes unnoticed by my heart, my heart that stands frozen again my rib cage.
How long will I go on like this, I can’t seem to determine my strength or its gauge. I live the life, I often criticize and all for what?
A moment’s satisfaction, that wanders off easy?
Squashed in the inches of spaces, I breathe so heavy, I breathe so wheezy.
The path is clear, and yet, I lay there immobile like a cripple.
My simple life so undulated now marked as if with ripple.
A cripple I am with a sound body.
All so excessively showy, all so gaudy!
Oh! That faith that once was so strong recedes bit by bit.
So scathed already, wont someone please please please smoothen this grit!
I fade away to turn into a stranger even to me,
I live like a hypocrite, a hypocrite that is ME!
