Just because an idea doesn’t hit me just right
Doesn’t mean it’s poison,
Perhaps it was a rocky translation
Of my value language,
Or a lyric I misheard
That, if I knew what it originally was,
Would give me an entirely new meaning
From a song of ignorance, to one of depth
A sentence I hear someone say,
Before they finish.
And I let out the dogs, the guards gathered to remove something
I didn’t want to face.
The demon is mine and it bites at anyone who will not feed it
You can hand me a million tools, but I can’t save myself unless I pick them up.