Bitter is like the harsh lukewarm black eye I sip carelessly in the corner
As the baristas gossip unwittingly behind the counter,
Is it crazy?
Some have said I was crazy before so why not this morning?
Bitter is like the surge of spite I suddenly feel towards those baristas
As I chuckle beneath my breath at their ignorance,
“It’s not crazy!”
I’m not crazy.
Some have said I was crazy before but I’m not crazy anymore.
Am I bitter?
I am bitter.
Am I crazy?
I was crazy.
You don’t know bitter.
You don’t know crazy.
There is a loathing ingrained in the depths of my brain,
I am resentful for its presence.
It exists for the soul purpose of evoking memories
Of the past.
There is an intrinsic rhythm that pulses in my head,
I react on the whim of every pound.
It exists for the soul purpose of hopeful awaking
Fulfilling my every wondering.
But my mind will never let me be.
My mind is at a never-ending war;
Between vague and clear,
Between impulse and fear.
This is the curse between my ears.
This is the struggle for my sanity
And I don’t want to fight anymore.
I am sick of the confusion,
Embarrassed of my disillusions.
I am antagonized by every thought that sparks another flare—
Igniting another scare.
I beg to impaired
Of these feelings of despair…
I call upon the pulse that can swing me into air.
It once lite a fire
And provoked a dare.
It dared me not to stay,
To loose sight of today,
To reach for a path
That was fated to not last.
Because the beat of my future is one with my past,
Syncing its bittersweet melody,
Tainting with my memories
And morphing every dream;
Reminding me I am crazy.