Why is it that whenever,

I try the endeavor to surrender

you always render me broken, again. 

Then I find my self moping when. 

Not a toy or a boy, rather I’m 

a man that can. However I am not apparently different

than the lot. 

Try to plot the thought while 

I’m caught, listening, trying not to become

forgot. 

Love is the only thing trying and lying,

movin’ and groovin’. If the universe 

could only hear the verse, I would like to convey

to you. Dismay is the only emotion that’s 

coming through. Im confused because of you.