Stains

Anger. Pain. It's left a stain, In my brain. I don't want to be sad. Nor do I want to me mad. But Id rather be mad, Than stuck in this brain full of pain. And if I were to get paid, For every day that I waste away, Inside my brain, Every dollar would only add to the sorrow. And as I burrow in my brain, The brain filled with such pain. I'll waste away. Till the anger grows to be too much to bare. And than my anger will lead me to my dispare.