Cynic

I close my eyes every night
Just to see things I normally wouldn't, sometimes it's frightening
I remember the times when cold days with flashing lightning
Used to be the joys in life, and how the drama would excite me
Now, it's a bittersweet contact
I can't look at a woman's flesh and become attracted
Without asking if she's a tiny bit too drastic
Or there for me the whole way through,
From when guns go off to the celebrations after
Or if my physical features
Make her more speechless then the words I frequent
If I wrote a couple secrets and she read them, and she's happy I wrote it
Or if the sexual tension is the reason she noticed
If the thrill of her maybe being able to change me is a focus
Why would fixing something broken be an issue, that feels like an ulterior motive
It's been six years baby, I can say that I've missed you
I still wonder if you would've survived all the bullshit we would've went through
You would've been the daughter of a king in which whom loves to jest
Demands respect,
I would've raised you to be a woman your peers would've wanted to live through
Your mother; I was extremely into
Fiending the same love she gave then, almost as if that's something I can't do
I suppose that's why your father has been trying to divert it to a different addiction
Yes ma, I understand you don't agree with my superstitions
I know you love when I write more about fact than the fiction
Though it raises your hopes when you read something like To Be Determined
Knowing your mother will be more like her, but that's only in diction
It's so sickening, everytime I stare in the mirror
The only thing looking back is the person I fear
With clearer eyesight and a lucid facade, striking chords with his God
Ready for anything life throws at him, he may make it -- but everyone pities the odds
Realizing I'm looking back at a younger version of my father
Around the same age as when he said no to my mother when she proposed to him
Exact mind state, but when I relapse I last longer
Steady dreaming of a day when being alone makes the pain fade away
Of everything I think about that could throw me out of the race
Be it my daughter's name, forty days of rain, or still being pessimistic
Isn't solitude the way to be when you're one quarter to the finish;
And everything you're running up against is winning?