I Laugh At Your Optimism

You hear roses and violins I hear gunshot, screams, open fire I am heading toward trouble But I cannot turn my feelings into flowers The sun, the sky and the moon are for others. They have nothing to do with me. I am a wanderer with a self-deprecating attitude Gunshot residue lives inside my mind You can prance through the forest of pretty things Flicking flower blossoms singing “he loves me.” I watch you go, laughing at your optimism. Can I flick the bullets out of my brain? Hardly!