The remains of you are under my fingernails
I scrub again and again,
I see an imperfect,
Solemn,
Heartbroken face,
In the reflection in my fingernails.
There's bits of you remaining,
A ghost in the imperfect breeze fluttering through the window,
A butterfly's wings against my cheek.
I scrub away the remains of you.
A stain of jam on the floor,
A sock without a partner,
A piece of candy from Halloween under the couch.
But no matter how much I scrub and wash away some pieces of you,
There is always one more that remains.

The spaces within me,
Are extremely hard to place,
The perfect pictures,
So very hard to see,
Are inside of you,
Inside of me.

คุณ อธิบาย อะไร
คุณ ไม่ได้ช่วย อะไร
คุณ จะไม่ได้ช่วย
สำหรับสิ่งที่ ผมพูด
คุณจะ ขัดแย้ง ,
และ ทำลาย สิ่งที่ฉัน ได้ หว่าน

I hate math,
I really,
REALLY,
do.
It reeks of work,
And I smell clean of the work,
But I realllllllllly hate math!

Too long have I been trapped,
Upon this miserable ship,
Where sickness and misery lies.

My head aches,
My heart breaks,
With every moan I make,
I see nothing here,
But unhappiness and death.

I want to crawl to my friends,
But oh,
How these chains bind me!
Bind me.....

The time of my demise is upon me now,
I await death with open arms,
For my misery may end!

But no!
A doctor comes to see me,
In my miserable state.
He works intently at the bullet lying in my chest,
I scream once,
Twice.

The doctor keeps working,
And I want to scream again,
But I feel woozy....

I awaken to a bright day,
My head pain-free and no injury upon my damaged chest,
But I am still a miserable prisoner.

I fear the worst is coming.

A long while ago,
A very long while ago,
There was a man,
The man was perfect,
In every way but one,
As his heart was full of daggers,
And his eyes burned like the rising sun.
He sat upon a tripod,
And questioned what the world stood for.
Many would ask,
"Why?"
But the only answer they would get,
Would be nothing,
As his heart was full of daggers,
And his eyes burned like the rising sun.
Once,
Someone dared to question him,
And their heart was soon full of daggers,
And their eyes burned like the rising sun.
So he sat upon his tripod,
Where no one dared sit,
And questioned the world,
Just like a hypocrite.

I am of nothing,
I am a glimpse,
I am of a shadow,
I am of darkness.
If I trod where others have gone,
I will vanish.
If I go where nobody has gone,
I will become more real.
Nobody knows who I am,
And I doubt you will know.