The reason

My luck seems to be,

That everytime it’s me,

I have another reason,

to see the truth indeed,

and though I’m the one

That has to be the one,

It seems it’s never you,

And that it’s never true.

So what do I do?

It’s like a bloody curse,

And a theme indeed,

That writing it in circles,

Is like it’s super seed,

And yet I guess I know

I’m saying nothing really at all,

It sounds like it still works,

In some other trusted line,

And yet I can’t say it all,
Or write it yet indeed,

I know that it is there,

In somewhere that we see,

And though I have no clue,

I’m saying it again,

It’s not all about me,

It’s written in the pen.