I’m writing this letter to you

then throwing it away for me.

It’s not about your version of truth

but ‘bout the things you don’t see.

Talking always ended in walls.

Those barriers so hard to break.

You gave me no other choice

but to breathe for my own mental sake.

My way, is all you say, that’s your only play.

All along, your only song, is driving me away.

I’m trying to capture the meaning

of all my emotions in chains.

You always were the root cause to me

that fed my heart those pains.

My way, is all you say, that’s your only play,

All along, your only song, is driving me away.

All along,

your only song,

is driving me away.

Michael Charles Messineo

April 14, 2009