Get out.

They ket insisting I should leave.
As if a change in scenery would remove the panic in my bones, the uncertainty in my eyes, the wonder in my gaze.
I told them, the emptiness in my being is not a direct result of the circumstances that be,
it's simply me being unsure of me.
And the distance between you and me is as crystal clear as fresh springs on a cool April day.
But you're my family, so I feel I should be honest with you,
and expect whatever may ensue,
but for some reason, I don't trust it, cause I'll fear you'll reject that too.

I paint a mask on every morning,
and clench my fists subconsciously, always ready to right.
I'll break loose soon, I kept telling myself.
As if this prophesy would be actualized through repetition of sound.
But these words contain more philosophy than action.
My heart's gone missing, along with it my mind too
And all that pumps inside of me is an iron pipe that pumps more labor for the machine.
The iron pipe that metabolizes with the gleam of certainty--and that gleam is green.
That gleam is stability. That gleam is the nasty truth I refuse to part from.