Marco DiLeonardo Art

This remarkable fear has me tiptoeing through your halls.
Afraid to play the hand you've carelessly dealt.
The shoe falls on the other foot and you hold it over me.
All this may look bad, let me assure you it feels worse.

Inside terror rots slowly leaving an awful aftertaste.
A major disadvantage with nothing left for me to prove.
Your pedestrian ideas and boring imagination run wild.
I’m just some useless idiot who can do nothing right.

Those idle ambitions and clicking fingers suit us day and night.
We care about what others think of us, yet we say we don’t.
You later assure me of trust and tell me you got me covered.
It's me, you see, who need protection from the likes of you.