Two steps lead to two more and both sore,
Rotting pieces un-cut, how close to the core?
Looping volume on high, lying, personal folklore,
Deciding in shame, to be less, the master’s whore.
A turnaround off this dance floor, escape, I could make,
But so afraid that I might just unceremoniously break,
All things I don’t know, all these things I cannot fake,
I give light when needed but steal every bit I then take.
Legs have worn out from the effort to keep moving,
The explosions of the beats that are never improving,
Something here out in these dark lights I still find soothing,
Here I am again making a silent scene, business is booming.
Sending a request to the outside, the ones I did the abusing,
My heart lies heavy in this black tar dance, it never was amusing,
I should have been dancing with you a better dance, approving,
Rather than set your heart alight then smash it senselessly, accusing.