PKArtist

Many years have passed How long can the spite last? I wonder who are you, who As I don't see my mother in you Have you shown me chaotic evil Or have I chained myself To my very own imaginary anvil? Of made up memories a full shelf? I couldn't point a finger On what exactly was surely wrong You blasted your own song That would blur my vision, linger At times when in your presence The wrong things seemed to make sense I let myself become that Which about you I hate I never had the will to confront you Except for one occasion But my emotions got tangled, the tongue too Achieving nothing but a self-caused concussion Admitting my defeat All I had left was to retreat Far where your song couldn't be heard It was time to button my own shirt If I ever wondered about existence Of something positive between us Then I've just built a supporting truss Made entirely of a sufficient distance Doubtful of my position I've observed, scrutinised myself frequently Have I mistakenly Fostered the

You make me see colours I have never seen Brighter than the parlours Enjoyed by the British queen You make me want to leave Every place that's not here Here where I can't hear your breath Leave just so I can be near You make me dig deeper To beat the dungeon keeper With a box of emotions held That I've always hid, never felt You make me choose to continue Fighting my personal fight When you share you reached a new height Or that there is a conflict within you Thank you

A single body roaming With two minds talking At once Attempting to find balance Each one has its motives Varying, opposing desires Feeling as if Moses Parted between them the seas The first mind is a student Always under observation Focused on the moment Not occupying a set station Haphazard, chaotic and forgetful Living with an ever present Lack of stillness; not content Ungrateful, regretful and fretful What makes it shift focus Is the effort to avoid suffering Yet discomfort it is accepting A continuing cycle of self-hocus On the other side Sits the patient parent Seemingly with nothing to hide Offering a helping hand A much quieter presence Shrouded by the neighbour's chaos Seldom uncovering its essence Not shouting about its personal gloss Stable, certain and calm No wave nor wind can move it As it flexes, adopts, refuses to quit In control of the helm Such a random scene Where you choose which Side you will lean Towards, do as you wish The purpose of this