How it be

 
I'm engulfed and battered by all the unfiltered emotion.

One second I'm aggressive, possessive then calm and free spoken.


Feelings felt as my own like a bomb placed in my core.

I've got to be calmer, turn my cheek, or a flirting with hurtin comes on more.


If you really knew that I could feel in me, what is really you.

Like it's my own you'd be quiet, scared shitless of my voodoo.


I'm an artist painting life with my words and you are my muse.

Yet you see the root of all evil monster with some dodgy tattoos.


Physically imposing, clear staring cold eyes. 

The look on my face tells you I wont even try. 


To understand you, you're right and we know it. 

My voice isn't needed, I'm observing, I don't show it. 


So I sit here marinating in your unpasteurised feelings. 

Condemned as a tyrant, by scared, undisciplined weaklings. 


You speak your lies and deceit like it's some inane truth. 

I'm feeling your thoughts as mine, yet I'm Belzebuth?


Its not really you, it's your demons that you set free. 

I've found my inner strength and peace, and for that they will always hate me. 


You silently hate, under your fake falsified smiles. 

But My silence is golden at distance, measured in miles.