The room is dark.
Twisted, cold
and loud,
but then I realise...

I'm just in my head.

Sometimes I can't tell if the things I'm seeing are real,
Or just in my head.

Poems written by a mad man will be short and won't make sense.

Poems written by a genius will always connect to each other.

Poems written by a broken person will have a darker, underling meaning.

Poems written by a angry person will always blame someone else.

In the end, It will all fit together.

Something I haven't heard before.

You can get so much information from simple things people do;
How they walk,
How they talk,
How they write,
How they react,
And their art....

WhaT d O yo u sEe wHen yOu l o o k aT m E?

T hE y aRe sO LouD,
wHy wON't th E y ju St S h u t u p ?





iN th e E N D, i T wi ll al l Fi t to geth er.

Is all just lies.