Desolate Testament 

 

Impossible to express my thoughts verbally; this matter is delicate. 

I hesitate often; My etiquette will be in question, that’s definite. 

The truth that stirs within is eminent, but I dread bringing upon an awful sentiment, 

You say it's irrelevant & soon; it all turns to a benevolent unintelligent spiel, I then resent.... 

 

It becomes evident, how desolate, life can be in my true element. 

In an environment where an expressionist is met with a hostile temperament. 

Wandering pondering in my own detriment. 

I guess it's evident. It's me who's a pessimist.  

Although, I speak to know if its resonant....  

What's the use, I'll get a therapist.