Trapped in Oblivion

I am frustrated, because I betted on a lifestyle that was overrated and now trying to be rejuvenated for lost time, and compensated for my lost dime, I find myself being manipulated.

Thrown to the wolves where blood is illustrated and praying to be reincarnated, so I can live a life that isn't mine.

I can't find peace, I wear this metal leash, tied to an oblivious tree.  I stare at the tracks of my feet, where I tried to break free, only to be choked back and left sitting there for eternity.

I can't comprehend, the meaning of pretend, when you are left to reprehend, the unrealistic friend, I call best.

I try to understand, your reasoning within, that you project onto my chest, with your solid hands, but for some reason it makes no sense.

That four letter word that you often preach, engraved onto sleeves, lingering in the breeze, and beaten into sheets, concerns me.

The unrealistic reality you unfold, could never uphold, my oh so soon coming fatality, hell will soon burn me.

I reach for angel wings, breech says the security, leech is what I am referred to as, because I can never let go.

I comfort others, under many different covers, hoping to find my way home.

I look into eyes and realize that real eyes, hold real lies.

I am confused, because I broke my bonds tied by tubes and my pride is the crutch for my insecurities to use.

I want to be a different version of me, but me, myself, and I, are the only versions I can seem to be.

During winter I am scolded, my marked arms stay folded, I beg to be released from the chain that is binding me, but instead I am left with purple marks lining me.

I want to explore the white on the ground and dig until I find the root which is always black and brown.  It's funny how even weather is racist.

I see smiles painted on their faces.  I see tear stained windows, blood dripping because of music notes, that crescendo, off of youth's ears, drained into their peers, more than often spoken again.

I pray for them, not me, truth is, I see, what happens when the people speak, the ones who are tied to trees like me and can't break free.

We are left, we are never right, we put up a fight, only to be left tied at night.

We are cold, our stories untold, and we find ourselves free falling into our hindsight.

You may not see, the purity, that lies within me or the tree branch that cuts me, but this chain will eventually break and I hope for heaven's sake, you too break free.