180 Degrees

 180 Degrees
  ~Miss A

What is this, how did it turn like that,
Slipping over the edge, the sand
From the hands you didn't hold tight
But maybe because the palm was twisted 180°
A thousands thoughts of denial denied,
When you lookout for a singular yes amongst.

A savage knife you pull out to others
Feels great inside you as well, hurts the pride
Just like it would to anyone else,
Minus the endeavoring sense of silence.
What am I, how could I do it?
Don't you know those answers better.

Every single encounter, just a proof to the thesis,
The bloodline flows beyond life forms
And destiny makes you see 'em one by one.
The only beauty that remains is the beauty of heart
But did I not know what a black heart I engage.
Why do every statement I speak; are suggestions of fallacy?

You knew yourself better; cold words written on fire disappear.
So does evaporate every sense of what you held off.
Was that stupid. Of course it was.
But you also do remember what your head concluded, back a few days.
A paradox so fine, there remains no bridge to answer it,
Except the one which determines you as the worst.

As a human potent of survival, you won't drink real poison,
Specially if you're being offered a deal, you question you'd deny.
It's gruesome to divide subjects on basis of power
But everyone is aware that the one with power wins.
A parasite is the weakest thing, until it takes control of a body,
You wanna give in, but you're also aware of your extents.

You fear yourself, and devour yourself from belongingness
And then you serve on treats, phrase the bitter as better!
We don't need to constantly entertain ourselves.
Being bound to one thing or another is quite amazing
It gives you reasons to stop you from anything
Simply by stamping your conscience.

Breaking those chains, you'd only long to be a captor.
But you can't look back, once you run from a prison
You need to constantly run to help yourself.
Looking forward to a place of serenity, holding sounds of melody.
Play the Hercules, and you'd have burden of world on your head
Play the Judas, and you learn about thy meaning of motives.

Warmth, warmth, and you get habitual of cold.
A scoop of pain feels tastier to the nerves,
But is only hard to swallow down the throat.
Listen to a mediocre domicile and you'd be convinced of variance
Each spark a deemed path to fire
Dance with the demons, and the words you hear are of yourself.

Drown in the ocean to measure it's depth.
How did I turn like this? No guilt, no pain, no dynasties.
How do all the bitches got such clear skin?
Assured, there is poverty even in power
Scales can seem tasty even when diced and fried.
What was this again? A personality development class?

Who are you the self conscious one or the concrete?
Let's write a joke. Let's turn it towards you.
Switch the roles, savor the sanitary of different shoes.
The Arcadem is known for its explicit weapons.
Take your master to the cave, pierce an arrow through the heart
Sounds like a beautiful love story. A drama to inspire…

Gasp on the equations which led to the moments
Then take an advantage to jester the holy sublime.
Feed the delicate with hate, and your wounds will broaden.
Did you really enjoy it? Or were it the facts, you consider
Not in your favor, and held hands with the other way.
For what comes before a delicate death, a creepy existence.

 

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