Random Precision

Control is an illusion
emotions feign release,
While trying to elude them
bleeding hearts will flee,

It burns too much to feel
and hold my passion with,
The agony is real
not imagined nor dismissed,

So I paralyze my senses
and sentence them to die,
Behind blurred defenses
careless, crazed, and blind,

Happiness escapes the ones
who grip instead despair,
Wounds removed then are numbed
with poisons well prepared,

Control is the illusion
when emotions run awry,
More hindered to endure them
then hold your pain confined