Them

A refuge,
That's what can be seen inside of your arms.
All I see is a death-trap,
For the innocent and gullible.

Sanctuary,
That's what you claim as your own.
Well, I can claim myself to be a poet,
But will that make me write?

Romanticisim,
That's all that whirls around their airy heads,
When they see you walking past,
All I see is that I'm about to trip you,

For being yourself,
For being a dimwitted fool,
For playing the Jester,
While girls thought you were the KIng,
For every disaster,
You left crying in your wake.

There are so many people,
There are so many girls,
You think to live life to the fullest,
While you ruin theirs.

Is that fair?

Is life fair?

Am I fair?

Or am I one of them too?