A Taste of Kirklin's Work

Take me off of autopilot, cause I stare into the atmosphere, I'm living life and getting strikes and pretty soon I'm outta here, you got me twisted like a broken stick that you kept messing with, and if I die I hope that I can convince God to let me in, I'm open to your point of view, but closed for ever in a hole, I can get a grasp of things, but I can never get control, an answer can be answered, but a question stays a question, my anger turns from silence into pain and then depression, this is just a poem about how I make my poems perfect, They're so deep, but now I think it's time to head back to the surface!