though sometimes hard to see,
tucked away in disguise.
not meant for me to see,
not meant for me to catch,
I don’t capture,
and everything lives on,
its heart beats its synthetic beats,
and I stay happy,
you stay pleased.
I know no better.
it pumps something pointless,
grape juice to prove the passion.
100% artificial colouring,
prosthetic hearts don’t pump grape juice,
you lie again;
they pump kool-aid, every colour.
I don’t care for kool-aid.
I think it tastes fake, and plastic.
Just like your little soul,
all chemically imbalanced, and man made genius.
we live on, you lie, we live on.
But if I do capture,
crashing and burning,
all the colours of the rainbow, splattered on the walls.
and then I learn the truth,
you didn’t lie about the kool-aid.
you really were filled to the brim.
all synthetic and gritty, as if you hadn’t been stirred.
you may have been fake and sour,
but that was covered up by your bitter sweet, sugar coated lies.
Your just mad cause my blood, tastes like blood.