What's good?
"Good morning", or at least that's what others tell me. Good? What does that mean, because between the hours of 6-11:59 am I can't think of anything good. Morning, well that's what you do after someone dies, but I think spelt differently, but this is the english language. Bat, Duck, Jump, baseball or flying, swimming or surviving, overcoming or being stomped on. Footprints imprinted on me, so that's what they meant by I looked welcoming. Not much homie though, always running away from the house because there's no home their. Blank stairs, nothing on them. Blank faces, no emotions when I stop in. Quite slams, but everyone's always awake too see me, they speak to me, but I don't have time for any words. No time for exchange, work, sleep, eat, repeat, I'll do this **** until my heart flat lines. Maybe then I'll finally be on a straight path. Walking down the tunnel, walking away from something I will forget the next day.  "Good morning", that's what they all say
E

Let's Pretend

Smile For the Camera
(Nobody wants to see the real)
Cry behind closed doors
(Show them success. What are fears, tears, eyes, and  ears?)

Scream alone while everyone's asleep.
(Let the lambs sleep, you weren't meant for this)

Work hard, and smart  while others quit
(No doors are closed, when you become the key)

Focus on yourself, and you won't notice them. Be successful for you, don't get so stuck watching others. You fail to see what's wrong in front of you, if you keep looking around. Shut down, and build up
(Eat, sleep, over power them. Make this world yours, don't get stuck in the lions den.)
E

There awake

I've drifted away from warmth. The fire within me has been suffocated.  The cold has made my body it's home again.  
The rays of the sunlight don't burn me anymore.  The dark and gloomy nights don't seem to feel the same.  The loud voices don't scream at me anymore. They talk to me, because I'm finally listening. There the only ones that want to speak to me.  I'm finally back home. I'm finally home where emotions don't live, warmth is unheard of, and happiness, well that's a joke, if we ever did say any of them. I'm home where pain is the father,  and love is the mother. The mother is never around. Tears are the sibling I never had.  The monsters are awake, and they can't be lullaby to sleep. There here to stay, and they want to eat.  They sweat blood, and eat meat.  They've got me broken, but I'm still awake . I'm still fighting,  but I want to sleep.  

E