These Are The Days, These Are The Nights

And what if I had no time to think,
Would I continue my thoughts of madness?
And if there were never a thing of goodness,
Would there ever be badness?
You look me in the eye without a question of why.
You cannot suspect things from my side.
There’s an open invitation wide as the sky.
It’s a do or die kind of night.  Never a try.

What do you know of me,
When I’m an illusion of your fantasy?
Picking apart the Present like delicacies
And wonder about my gifts given angrily.
This pretending is wearing me down.
Living day to day without bearing purpose or ground.
Pushing physical boundaries is all I’ve found.
Despite the outwardly world of my favorite nouns.

This smile washes out by middle of night.
I beg to be free.  But even this is a fight.
I bargain and plea with light in what I write.
But wanting anything is natural spite.
With or without cause we are breathing to die.
I don’t mind disappointing them or you by and by.
I live my existing and dying days for I.
And never feel the need to question why.