the other me
I have no release, no outlet. They have been unplugged, removed, and exhausted. I have nowhere to perform, no reason to write music, no lover to kiss, no physical gratification, no mental stimulation, no where to be. I’m feeling sorry, sorry for my self. I’m am a jealous person, jealous of my heroes, jealous of everyone. Are they my heroes because of time and place? If they had lived the life I lived would they have even made it this far? They all live in illusion but are having too good a time to see. I hate my heroes because they are better than me. This is my other side, the bad side. Afraid, lonely, dumb, and a really big ego. Nobody’s feelings are real but mine; nobody knows pain but me. This is the truth to the other me, the bad me. I’m letting him speak to you so he’ll quit talking to me.