All my friends are so-called realists so take it slow,
They often times jeer and gift me a blow,
Please don’t make any sudden moves you conformist;
Your abuse proves you’re not the warmest.
The reflection just points and stares with disdain;
Waiting for them to ask me who I know,
Living freely as a bird in its cage, before it’s slain,
Welcomed to a room filled with people I’ve loved one day, now full of vain.
I am a heathen and it's now for the viewing,
Once thinking of disenthrallment, now nothing but constant undoing;
Yearning, failing to change their brains from hand grenades,
“You’ve tried to warn, but knew you were one of us, enjoy the many shades."