Blinded Sight

"You've got a good head on your shoulders"
Words set in phrase I always seem 
To question 
If it's to be told that I do
Then why does my head still seem to bite
Always choosing to fight
Why does my mind run overtime 
Murdering all temporary happiness 
Why oh why does my mind 
Try to be a trickster 
Saying some fake bliss 
Lies within the slicing my wrists 
How can this be 
That people still believe 
A good godly gracious mind still exists 
Within contemporary society 
Or that even it lies with me 
Let it be 
That you see 
My systematic way of showing you I'm okay 
Lying in sinful word 
You stare awe 
As "this good head" 
Is not as graceful as you once saw
Tip toeing through time 
where others tread triumphantly 
I tread to try just basically survive 
As words be written to be a fucked up 
Symphony of pain
People seem stare in awe 
As manipulating agony 
Seems to stall 
This fake sense of happiness 
takes its toll
On this so quoted "good head"
Laying upon my shoulders

This poem is about: 
My community


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