Who Else Can I Be?
Living life in black and white,
(like living in a snapshot photo)
and seeing time through stained glass eyes,
(how many oxymorons' can we use?)
standing amidst the chaos that is everything I am.
(and getting more frenzied with every passing second.)
When will I finally be something worth being seen?
(cause this here isn't going to cut it.)
How long will I be content to be tepid?
(am I too good for hot or cold?)
This isn't the life I wanted.
(but who else can I be?)