Beneath The Canvas. Poem by Ace Of Black Hearts

Beating the brush.
Where is it?
The pretty yellow birds takes off and flies bitching at you the whole way up.
That's me always rocking the cradle to hard.
Trying too hard to help.
Trying to please always like a deadly disease.
Sometimes I feel it is never good enough.
My fucking ego always telling me to do better.
So many unwritten letters.
Crumbled and thrown away.
No sir that will never do this snob will never be satisfied with just plain stew.
Hoping for a high life with absolute no drugs, no foreign substance at all.
My body, my temple, my soul, my mind.
But the heart makes so many leaps and bounds before any of the others ready.
Always getting in way over my head.
Who is all this self sacrifice really for.
Whoms approval are you really trying to earn.
It's just a perception, a poorly deciphered reflection.
Maybe it's the environment in which I lived.
Maybe it's the lack father figure almost my entire life.
Sticking my hand on a scolding brick.
Just to feel some kind of pain.
Just another man.
Cold shallow, and always wanting more.
From the price of silver to gold stories are told.
And truth needs no witness nor reasoning.
The motto it just is on the welcome mat in front of my door.
Go ahead wipe your feet and I'll pick up the lies underneath and soon I'll learn every little secret.
Even the ones no man wants to learn.
Infact I wish to know none.
Bear no false witness so they say.
But still I see the angles of everyone.
Trying so hard to distance myself from it all.
Pushing while being pulled.
A bad magnetic trip.
A pinball machine where each bounce is just another mistake.
Sucker writen on a tombstone for all to see and none to mention.
The oblivious to that which is so obvious.
So goodbye with a crack of a whip and wobbly wooden wheels of broken chariot.
Yes again soon my turn will come, but I will not sit idly by and wait for it to come.