Color Me Used by Alejandro N. Marrero 10/2/2020

Grant me peace for my demons they’ve broken their way completely through.
Forgive me for being human as beyond all things it’s rude yet true.
I’m the example of overworked and cleverly underpaid
Yet, because of the field I work in no one cares or respects me much anyway

I’ve got static charges in my fingertips and they search for hidden prey
I’m not one to harm anyone but I get damaged by my own thoughts ever present in my own way
Sleep, little conveniences enjoy the door that’s always open
Bliss for everyone as your doors are shut when words of mine are spoken

Grant me refuge from the hauntings of my exhausted mind
I felt escaping would give me a break but everyone’s unavailable except for me all the effing time
By now I’ve heard every excuse and logical reason to be completely denied
Still it’s funny how out of all of us my doors always open for your enjoyment of drinks of wine

I have these demons that swirls inside my very head
They leave me tired, sleepless, overworked and underfed
I’ve become a hermit with no tolerance for other takers, fakers and exhausting beings
Simply cause those others take advantage of all my blessed and constantly religiously hospitable means

I need an exorcism that doesn’t mind a keyboard or a permanent pen
Sometimes I am angered so much but I hide it well In silences sweet and Impoverished pretends
I’m glad I’ve paved a golden road for you to come whenever to my door
I’m angered it’s a one way path when it’s me who’s in need for more

I’ve got these demons and they’ve possessed my tired, tattered mind
Words have and will be said yet there’s never a damn rewind
I’ll control, alt, ‘A’ and select it effing all
Then I’ll hit delete because no one cares if they don’t witness or hear my fall
I’m crowded in thoughts, work and lack of space to stretch my wings
Still I guess it doesn’t matter as out of twenty not a single one cared tonight to offer an hour of blissful spring

Back to work I go for I’ve never stopped but once since July
You think it’s a Spaniard exaggeration but I’ve got reports that never lie
So carryon on now your favorite color is to use
I’m sick and tired of being available for when you all have the itch or blues for me to amuse
Meanwhile I’ll rock this silence, anger, taxing soul with glasses of solitary fine
Making myself a hermit that will stop calling at the stops of each or every caring line.