For what are feelings I ask?
No matter how I try, my feelings are overflooded.
They try to flee from me, always wanting to get freed.
The anger that I hold amongst the crowd,
On the closest ones I love, it pours out.
The happiness with which I brim,
Sometimes I cannot just hold it in.
The sorrow that fills my core,
Craves for the loneliness more and more.
The grief that embarrasses me,
Why doesn't it let me function or let me be?
The nostalgia that I feel,
Or the reminiscence that heals,
I feel alive because of these,
The reasons for my pain and the reasons for my ease.
Though I say, I'm dead inside,
Or even I try to suppress and hide.
I keep coming back to square one,
Breaking in sorrow, swaying in fun.
Overting to the unknown,
Yet denying the actuality that's shown?
For what are feelings? I ask?
Will you tell me, it's all a hiding tool, perhaps, a mask?
Or will you tell me, it's all just life,
With them being the carving knife?