The truth is

My eyes are habituated

To see the vile words of misjudgement

And the violence costs me more nerves

And plain disharmony is my order for madness

But the truth is

I'm so relieved to see the side of disgust

I'm so much welcome to witness the mistrust

Even if you talk about sunshine

I could smell the agitation beneath the layer

And the truth is 

The first hint of a sunny day just disappears

I'm so much into the world that has gone all wrong

Into the weary eyes the desperation waits no long

I could talk about a rosy love

Or sunflowers blooming in your hands

But a gunshhot rather amuses me to the core

Or maybe talk of hate or blood that you could pretend

Yes, the truth is

I'm a senile mind where the pain is the king

Dark angels to my pride ready with their offerings

Dosage of futility and myriads of gloom

Sweet talk to cheap stalk

Division of eccentricity in full bloom

Yet, the truth is

You sing a song I hear the wounds

You might kiss the sky but I hit the ground

Purple haze is all in my mind

And the truth is

I never wait for you to drop me a line