Crossed the Line

Black eyes, looking like butterflies.

Fielding lies that ruin lives,

Each stride divides,

Knives piercing into all sides,

Smiles full of turpentine

All of us, two short of nine,

Look absolutely asinine.

No one tries, the burden is all mine,

Accused of wasting time

But without a dime,

I am on the constant grind

There is no way to say this kind,

But you're the type of blind

That has nothing to do with your eyes

If you want to take a dive, that's fine,

Calling yourself solid, but act like slime

I am more interested in the climb

Working over time, to remind you,

If its not malignant, it's benign.