Air in the midst of the times,
I blow my rhymes,
away from the sky,
already too cold to fly,
and I haven't even tried,
waking you up near the tides,
of this catastrophe,
soaking me,
untying me,
till I finally,
create my own symphony,
of why you never loved me,
but only wanted me,
and you're too blind to see,
the awakening,
of my voice,
this noise,
as I throw them toys,
and destroy,
them boys you enjoy,
but you can keep your memories,
cause I'm the not the one with
them memories,
and I'm not the one with those accessories,
that tie inside your diaries,
and longer words of remedies,
so please stop taking care of me, and take care of yourself,
I know you will need the help, my friend who's locked inside the cell,
that society wishes to melt,
to be or not to sway,
the ways of the gays?