PUSH

sincerity is hard to come by, with piercing lies that sting worse than third degree burns; i still stay cool. my mind retracts severely with strange thoughts that were long gone or so thought to be. i have prayed for a better tomorrow and have got it but i feel a force come over me i can not ignore. "spite me O' mighty spite-r" your sick twisted games navigating through my mind and i once again feel the definition of isolation; he stares me down and laughs in my face as i curl into my corner again. finally here comes an angel that arrives upon my shoulder and picks up my collar and i float along with it, it is now where i view the arms of warmth and then i can be convinced once more that i am not alone, that i am not a light feather being driven by the wind, i am not one to be put away momentarily while you go gallivanting. the mind is what spites me.