Suspicious of everything, reluctant to everyone,

disregard exciting things, to address the never done,

cynical ordinarily, and that’s just the usual,

life’s rough on the mental but his feelings are mutual.

 

In doubt, he doubts, best at being dismissive,

but being dismissive what lacks his intentions,

or attention, attentive to what makes him happy,

what tickles his fancy, for that comes in handy.

 

Every day is a struggle, with two cold shoulders,

with a bitter taste, plus with his nose up, that cold huh,

a brick wall’s up, a bad vibe climbs the brick walls luck,

down comes tumbling, then someone’s struck.

 

He’s struck by the fall, he’s hurt, after all,

this he expected, but then he neglects that

he is the reason because he’s too busy, too busy

with the gesture, that most people left him.

 

 

 

People displease him, but it does not leave him,

instead, it settles and misguides his kindness,

rattles his relationships and tries his mind,

“I’m fine,” he speaks, so bold and crooked,

a calculating menace, just reliving history.

 

He can’t shake the evils of his past, so he rejects the future and what good it has.

 

 

 

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