Too many,
In the dark,
Imagination,
Cold and Stark,
I no longer cry,
Except inside,
But I have,
Nowhere to hide.
They creep up,
From dark,
From the cold,
From the Stark,
Disgusting thought,
Romantic or frantic,
It preys on my mind,
Maybe my mind on my soul,
Because when you can't,
Think of anything,
That won't turn,
Into the everything,
Of the wrong,
It has become,
Too much.
And you have become,
Too much.
I cannot be handled,
While I struggle,
To get out the rubble,
Fade way,
To a land far away,
I was like this,
Before I even existed.
Socially,
I have no one.
Because no one,
Can can except even one,
Minute of me.
What I see,
Is the futility,
Of me trying,
Of me crying,
Of me prying out the terrible,
Unbearable,
Thoughts of me,
Thoughts in me,
Thoughts carried with me.
It's too much,
To fight.
Too much,
For flight.
Hope?
No light.
Too much,
So much,
That that light no longer exists.
In me.
But maybe in others,
It is there.
That is fair.
You can use it,
As a drive,
Not a path,
But a motivation.
Like a vacation.
Too much for me,
Not enough for you.
Yet.

Why can't I get a girl?
Talk about a girl?
Be in that swirl?
Let my boyness unswirl?
Why do I kind of act femenine?
Why can't I relate?
What is my fate?
I have already figured it out.
I have figured out myself.
It is to to stop waiting.
No more being an overgrown sprout.
I have to change.
I can meet anyone like me,
That isn't good,
I can't fight me,
I cannot right me,
Or write me,
What I see,
In the ocean blue,
A cloud running out of view,
I know how you feel,
I am talking to myself,
I am mentally unstable,
I need help.
Even the truest emotions I show,
Are not true,
I don't care,
What are you,
Be whatever,
Just not biast,
And if your not likable,
Don't be a denialist,
I am sorry,
Say that enough for a ferrari,
Why can't I,
Have the muscle,
Have the heart,
Have the brain,
Have the whole cart,
Why is everyone else,
So much better than me?
I wonder this,
Yet it is so clear to see....
Why can't I.

Dependent on who?
Dependent on you.
What you ask me too,
I will most likely do.
Depending on trust.
Once again fussed.
I am still bad at it,
Still being mad at it.
Because I don't get it.
From people or reason.
And if it's fair,
It feels like treason.
People don't trust me.
Especially my peers.
It doesn't bring me to tears,
But it is one of my fears.
That I will never hangout.
And without much doubt,
Be in relationship.
Because it's not what I am about.
Or it is really,
But most people would not appeal to me.
Not even have a feel to me.
Only if they feel bad,
Would they ever want to steal to me.
I think I get it.
I still get offended.
When people insult me,
I have no need to be salty,
Because I have already told myself,
What I could say to someone else.
Call me depressed,
But I'm just trying,
Trying to understand,
Why stuff comes round,
Just like a rubber band,
Choking on sand,
Some times it's rough,
And it may make me tough,
But that won't help me enough.
All these problems,
Trust is a real bust,
It always is in rust.
For anyone I friend,
I don't have the must.

I feel.
It is unjust.
To only provide a child.
With distrust.
When it is not their fault.
They want privacy.
Or an escape.
From society.
I feel.
It is unjust.
To limit.
Their own de-stress.
Their only bless.
Though I must confess.
Some of these.
May not be what is best.
Or match.
With the moral attest.
But if it doesn't hurt.
Then it is only fair.
To trust in them.
To be aware.
Of the difference.
Between addiction and obsession.
Versus just an affection.
No matter what activity it is.
As long as it meets moral standards.
Then it should not be called upon.
With distrust and interference and somewhat offensive comments.
About the simple biz.

Yeah, I have thoughts.
Thoughts of people I have known.
I always go to far.
Push myself.
Farther under the bar.
It doesn't help.
That these fantasies are not good.
And would never be real.
It's not even something.
To I really appeal.
Other people have this problem.
And I would sob for them.
If I could cry more normally.
I knew about this stuff.
Ever since I was four.
I mean really.
It's pretty hard not to know.
Of things like a ***.
And so.
It may continue to go.
Even though...
I could try to stop.
I could stop.
I could let it drop.
Just ignore any feeling of that...sense.
And be as sturdy as some of a cop.
I will.
And you cannot judge that I used to.
Or do.
Because even though it's more private.
You probably do it too.

I found a few purpose.
Of course on purpose.
Finding the point.
I serve this.
Going through.
It's ******* me.
And probably you.
A lot of rough bumps.
Where is that thing?
That you said would lift me.
Out of the dumps.
Life is not a rave.
Tried to get a save.
Not a single wave.
Maybe I am just dramatic.
Just spastic.
Really a brat.
Never something fantastic.
Spoiled.
Personality foiled.
Negatively coiled.
Always wanting change.
An embarrassing derange.
Looks like a mange.
I am sorry.
I say it so much.
A say it bunch.
I say it every time.
I have a hunch.
Every time.
I don't eat lunch.
It shouldn't mean anything.
I have used it to much.
Boy who cried wolf.
Boy who sorry sing.
But I am sorry.
Maybe I really am black and white.
Not insightful.
Maybe they just never laugh.
Not out of spite.
But because they are right.
I am not funny.
I am irritating.
Too hyper.
Hopping to conclusions like a bunny.
My actions.
My thoughts.
I can say are really not sunny.
I would pay my whole life's worth.
Of future money.
If I could escape.
The personality that runs me.
But instead.
I must be searching.
For where my future.
Is now perching.
How to ignore.
Thoughts just lurching.
What else can I do?
Then make entertainment.
For me and for you.

She's tired,
MIT hired,
That is aspired,
For her I am dire,
As she is my fire,
This is as usual,
Easily confusable,
For being unique,
Like a life's peak,
But this rarity is weak,
This is common in the week,
My like/love for her will leak,
Sometimes through her eyes,
I can see beauty and peace,
She walks as elegant as a fleece,
Admiration is what I release,
Because nothing more is allowed,
Her singing shows wide and proud,
With her hair as soft as a cloud...
This can be you,
A man grateful with you as their boo,
Or maybe not,
Just don't be a thot,
If you are alone,
Your still beautiful on your own.

I am sometimes offended.
Though I feel I am not supposed to be.
When it is said that may perspective.
I full of negativity.
When they say I am closed.
To social activity.
They say I am black and white.
But if I have time.
I can show what really lives in me.
An insightful, peaceful soul.
Or just a different personality.
I am 90% sure.
This is just now my reality.
Actuality.
I have a calm side.
I just need time.
I didn't think I had a problem.
In previous therapy.
And in the most recent one.
I just wanted to not follow insanity.
Trying something again and again.
And expecting a different result.
At least, I am not going to expect a better result.
I don't want to waste time.
Trying the same method.
Crying to the failure of method.
Though I don't cry anymore.
Saying I don't have more then one perspective.
Is only true in the moment.
Which is only sometimes true.
This false accusation.
Anytime my tone.
Anytime sarcastic.
Smart alack or spastic.
I wonder if it's just a rue.
To get me in trouble.
Put me in more rubble.
I am only annoying.
When I am bored.
Floored.
Or my mind is thrown overboard.
I like isolation.
The peace of disconnection.
Because I don't have to deal with.
The non-pleasant and helpful content.
In my surroundings.
It helps not burst from stress.
From the constant press.
My calm is more.
My hyper is less.
This does not mean I am not extroverted.
Social.
Or introverted.
It is my relief.
In the form most converted.
I have other options.
This one is just more enjoyable.
Electronics.
Since I was four years old.
This is better then some.
And does not make me a ***.
I am not dependent.
Obsessed.
Addicted.
Saying that.
Makes me offended.
I just have a positive relationship.
With technological companion-ship.
Gaming.
Music.
I am not feign to it.
Now, this is just to explain for the problems and complaints.
That way I can stay in my happy paints.
Although I do actually wonder.
If I am cocky, arrogant, or seemingly too self confident?

Think of something positive.
A flower.
Thorns without a rose.
Butterfly.
Pretty enough to die.
A child.
Prey to the evil eye.
Hope.
Something that is used to control you.
Block you from the truth.
A sin.
Something where everyone's been.
A positive thought,
Is a beginning of a negative.
Multiple.
Inside people.
Tell me something positive.
It turns into the creeping vines,
Disgusting and disturbing lines,
That lead my story,
Into something scary,
Dark.
Depleted of any kind of good.
Based off the dark inside,
I have discovered it all.
Yet I don't fall.
It's just in me.
A home it can crawl back to anytime,
A continuous lyric in a rhyme.
Call me the walking thought of crime.
Torture.
Hurt.
Not the real thing,
But full of the thought.
You have positivity?
You better run.
Escape.  
Because your prey.