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Filth
Why? Why do and say the things you do? Why call me clingy, when the clingy one is you? Why spew filth, then ask what's wrong? I'm sinking, drowning in your filth, accumulated after so long. Yuor anger comes in spurts, you blame it on your sickness. But it doesn't account for a mind so twisted. The world is many colors, not just two. The world you see, is black and white to you. You can't see inside me, opaque that's you. Of all the ideas you have, many untrue. You feed off what you see, not what you know. If only you'd ask, your knowledge would grow. So why? Why do and say the things you do? Why call me blind, when the blind one, is really you?
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