Yelling, screaming, screeching.
That's what you do inside,
in your heart, in your brain, in your cerebrum.
You're made to tear the noose and set all hells' loose while I'm quaking and craving for a tolerance boost.
I wish I could let fly
every curse
every mirth
every little outburst.
But I'm sinking under
the blaze
this maze
your emotional craze.
I'm scathed and barely in breath, praying for something safe to bless the days left.
I wish I could be brave and it's not solely to make you amazed; I need to stand and bash you in the face for everything.
For the nightly violin strains.
For the pig heads lined on the table.
For every bullet and dead corpse.
For being the only mad pierrot to grace the eaves of my sense.