I think I understand it now, life that is,
How easy it is to lose the sense of control in all this.
We're trapped like animals and on a conveyor belt,
Awaiting judgement from a consuming generation, but hell,
I'm guiltily part of that as well.

I think I get how people get lost in the numbness of judgement and consumption,
We're all consumers consuming humour and a humans convulsions.
That repetitive nature of the newest generations has change the world,
No longer do we fight the same fight and stand beside the typical Gerald.
We look to be hurt by others and take a leap of ill-faith into broken people,
Expecting them to catch us when they can't even find love to love themselves; never mind other people.

We hurt ourselves to pause the conveyor belt,
We harm ourselves to draw blood and feel pain and escape our modern hell.
We snap like thin hard wax and damage our perfect bodies,
When we're so powerful; we could revolt and fill the lobbies.

We can make a change, stop the automatic production,
But in a modern world, we're the creators of our own destruction.

The thoughts of suicide riddle my brain,
They're around all corners of every word I say.
Every thought I think or memory I look back,
The symbiote of suicide leaks out of every crack.

Writing and romanticising all my bad habits isn't smart,
But it's the sacrifice I make to make sacrificial art.
There's beauty in trapping myself in a box of sadness and doubt,
Walls made of paper; so maybe I can write myself out.

As unhealthy and sordid as it may be,
I find self-solitary to bring out the best in me.
As unstable and morbid as it may seem,
I find thoughts of suicide to bring out the best in me.

Sometimes in a quite room I hear screaming,
Screams so evil; the sounds of a Demon.
I try drown the sound but music is only so loud,
Then the ringing starts stinging my ear drums as they pound.

I'm not hearing voices or mutter of words,
It doesn't make my choices but it does make me hurt.
Maybe it's a dead man; in anger for all I've done wrong,
Or maybe it's a dead man; singing his last song.

Perhaps I need help 'cause when I think I can't see,
I hear people in pain; or are they angry at me?
Is there someone trapped and lost in my brain?
Or have I finally snapped and lost it; and gone insane?

I can only picture dying,
I've exhausted my own mind.
It's not for lack of trying,
To extinguish these thoughts of mine.

All things I see are blue,
But I love the blue Winter air.
I'm scared of heights; that's true,
But I walk on a tightrope without a care.

I'm toying with a sordid thought,
Just to see if madness is that bad but it's not.
Insanity and madness is all that I've got,
I've tried and I have tried but it just won't stop.

This may be the last you read from me,
I just can't keep up the lie.
This may be the last I write to you,
But when it's time, paint the flowers blue.

She had eyes like a crater,
Innocent as any girl could be.
I think she had some bruises when I met her,
But it never seemed to deter me.

I chased her like a dog chasing tails,
Was only then I started to notice her ***** nails.
And then those Yellow eyes,
Blue and Yellow never look pretty to my mind.

She belled me with croaky breathes of air,
I rushed to her house shook and scared.
She was slumped against a wall with the choker she used to wear,
Strapped around her arm and specks of ***** in her hair.

She's got track marks like a craters,
Darkness lay dormant in her soul.
A once natural and elegant Beau,
Now alone in the world of ****** and Blow.

I appear to be pushing back tears,
And I'm trying to stay strong.
Why have I been seeking forgiveness for all these years?,
Why did I romanticise my Demons in song?

I feel like the stem of a Rose,
A quaint mind of beautiful words to take away others hurt.
But I pierce the skin of those who comes close,
As I stamp on the acquaintances I left in the dirt.

Spawn of a Speed fiend and the ******* of an ***** freak,
A walking disease.
Ever so volatile and ****** to Hell like a Sinners smile,
Walking for miles in my own head,
Only to fall to my knees at Satan craving;
Death.

My headlong anger lays dormant like a Dragon,
Lingering to be awoken and unleashed into the world.
It sponges all the tiny things that I let in, Lies; Idiocy; and parabolic sin,
The kind you get from Tramps clamped in a Junkies grip.  

Niceties come with a flicker of Salt,
Because no one; and I mean no one brings Roses to a boy who strolls among the living.
Hot coals scold my soul; intensified as if doused in malt,
Then anger ravages my thoughts and forces itself in control.

I can't sway my anger; picture what it'd do if I even thought,
It'd grasp me by the throat; levitating me inches from the floor,
Squeeze its fiery nails seamlessly into my skin,
And tear out my soul; swallow it whole; leaving me high and dry in a shallow bowl;
Of sin.