Believed he held some sort of holy grace.
Fought to form a different way.
Risked it all then lost his bet.
Never tried to save some face.

Preached his own progressive agenda.
They attacked him with a personal vendetta.
His story is one we try to forget.
The deeper he's buried-
the better.

Thought he could have been the one.
Took his turn at playing modern messiah.
Burned him at the stake, they did.
The price that's paid of a pariah.

When you hand them a key
then send them blindly down a hallway.
They try opening every door
and knock on the ones that won't open.
This is what you were hoping for:
The echoes of their handfalls
resonant off the whitewashed walls
while you dance to the rhythm in a room they'll never notice.

****** down a twisting whirlwind of limbs.
Scream your heart out and I'll breathe it in.
Pump that bad blood soaked in sin.
I've been waiting for you.

Feel the pressure bearing down.
Sink into the underground.
Confluence of earth and skin.
No one can save you now.

Hurtle through the halls of hell.
Slip inside the deep black void.
All of what was once yourself
and your soul is now destroyed.

The artist fell asleep after he leaked tears on her arm.
She held him tight while full knowing that he's held them in for so long.
Together,
they both dreamed of healing their wrongs.
A picturesque scene of two broken souls moving on.

How rare to find another person with the same gleam in their eye.
She became his muse,
and he was her guy.

They never again questioned their fate.
They stopped asking why.
Oh, the things they did create while they both felt so alive!

But time went on,
and the colors did fade.
They began to pull apart -
growing separate ways.

The artist came to think he did his best work alone.
His queen found herself uncomfortable atop her lofty throne.

They both gave in,
and chalked it up to something neither could define.

She never again would fall for a broken man,
and he spent no more days crying.

If it runs in the blood then I feel bad for the one who gets bitten by the bug that's just had its fill of me.

If sadness is a drug then it does well to disguise itself as selfishness masquerading as sympathy.

Drinking brings out the sociopath.
Madness takes flight with an odd number of wings.

Tell me again.
I beg of you, please;
What do you feel when you think of me?

I made a mistake when I proposed to miss Opaque.
I thought I'd seen her true colors, but I was staring at paint.
She adds more layers with each passing day.
An ever-changing masterpiece.
I admit,
I was infatuated with the constant shift of her landscape,
but I know now-
found out too late -
that underneath it all she's just a blank.

To the bright shiny people with a radiant glow,
I'd say this one's for you,
but you already know.
And so, this is for the others:
The battered and bruised.
The broken in shambles;
distraught and abused.
Those who think that they make no difference.
I'm here to acknowledge your existence.
This one is for you.

The world can be cruel -
known to deal a bad hand,
but you've still got to bet,
and play the best that you can.
It's better than just sitting at the table
as a cynical, do-nothing, always complaining and then
criticizing those who take part in the action.

You hate others because you hate yourself.
You're hopeless because they've got you convinced that you're living in hell.
"I can't do anything right," says the self-loathing pessimist.
You can't change the facts that make up your past,
but the fact is that you can always change your future.
There's hope for you yet.
No longer will you deny your own happiness.
You deserve it simply because you exist.

Did we not all squirm and twist our way to the ****
to get there first so we could worm our way in?
Naturally,
no one remembers any of this,
but it had to have happened because otherwise
we would not exist.
Not as we are now -
not how we've always been -
so I say raise your fist in celebration of that initial victory.

Even if you haven't won one since.
Even if you feel bogged down by misery,
it only means that you've let yourself temporarily forget that it's miracle at all that you even exist.
You're a part of it all just because you are there.
So I ask of the forgetful,
the indifferent,
the scared.
How can you not see the beauty?
How can you not care?

Focus.
Take a step back to take it all in.
Know where you stand
before you begin.

Take a deep breath and realize
we've only got so much time before we die.
Follow your passions and materialize all those dreams floating in your head.
Latch on to one of them,
and see it through until the end.

Sacrifice everything to make it happen.
Even if no one appreciates it,
even if everyone comes to hate it.
There's nothing more admirable
than taking something from your head
and creating it into some sort of event.

Challenge what they've come to know.
Sow your plants in gardens where they're not meant to grow.

Someone, somewhere, will see what it's worth,
to give that meaning to their life that they've been searching for since birth.

They'll take that idea,
and turn it into
a recipe that defines the new flavor of truth.

Progress is a constant contest with traditional norms.
Let's bury that decrepit body and leave it to the worms.
Learn, process, then send it back out.
Erase all doubt.
Let's go and change the world.

Why are you so wacky?
Why can't you just be sane?
You've done a number on yourself
and the inner workings of your brain.
Take a deep breath, you'll see, for sure;
all is not so lost.
Make a path back to the shore.
Our light will guide you through the fog.

You don't understand,
I'm homeless in the sand;
my castles only ever crumble.

Then don't build them so big,
or so close to the tide.
Tame your pride,
and learn to be humble.

I'll share no reefs with bottom-feeding things.
I'll use no shells only fit for a hermit.
I'd rather spend my days in the melodic waves.
I've  got what it takes;
I know how to endure it.

Between dreams of textured landscapes,
I saw an extreme close-up of your skin cells.
No matter what I do, I can't seem to get the taste of you out of my mouth.

Stained as we are,
with matching sets of scars,
I am ashamed of the constant reminder.
No matter how many beds I climb into, I'll always be two steps behind her.

She was once pristine,
with a soul just as clean.
Next to it, mine was a tattered disgrace.

I'll dream again of mountains of skin,
and all the rest of what can't be erased.

Pair up and be saved.
Pair up and look away.
Avert your eyes to the most depraved in our times:
The Herods, Caligulas, the Dorian Grays.
Focus on your own lives;
raise a family.
Fight those wanton propensities.
Avoid flagrant conviviality.
Do not cross that line of becoming too free.
Like those so many victims of their own enormities,
each one a slave to their every desire and whim.
Pair up and be shipped off -
delivered from sin.

This is what you need.
Satisfaction guaranteed.
Everyone is doing it.
Just listen to these true consumer stories.

We've got charts and graphs to prove it.
(We go to great lengths to feed our greed)
This product will fill that hole.
Buy it and finally be happy.

Because we know that you feel alone
in a culture built to make you feel empty.
Look at what it's done for the people you love:
fully endorsed by your favorite celebrities!

You can't live without it.
(Don't you dare doubt it)
We provide it to you out of love
(for a nominal cost)
If you believe in a God above,
and in our country -
if you support our troops,
and want to help our economy -
then you'll pull out your credit card and call the number on your screen.
(give us your money)
To spend it is destiny.

Let us tell you of its miracles.
(We know you're inclined to believe)
We liken our product to the advent of Christ.
(Become a walking advertisement (pay the ******* price))

We've smashed the competition.
This is what you've been wishing for.
Sanctify your existence.
(Buy it now, you mindless sycophantic *****)

If you don't believe what we say,
remember,
it's a virtue to have faith.
It's been reinforced by television, movies, and plays.
We know you pray before you go to sleep every night.
We've got the answer to those prayers.
Buy our product and finally feel alright.
(This is the part where you pay)
What a way to live a life.
Ain't capitalism great?

Clearly an absurdist.
Small stakes for what his word is worth.
The hare let the tortoise beat him accidentally on purpose.
Everyone loves a good story.
When ego is beyond everything
how can you care about fame and glory?
Victory feels silly.
Like a brand new bride without her ring.
Losing only hurts the pride if they allow themselves to feel the sting.
I am far from winning,
but farther still from admitting defeat.
When that rhythm hits me,
I'll sing along and move my feet.

The surface seems sweeter the deeper you go.
Please give me your hand.
I'm too far below.

It's always darkest right before dawn.
How long have I been sleeping on rock bottom?
Have you got a breathing apparatus on?
I'm sending signals in waves.

This is a new kind of certain old craze:
holding one's breath til the end of their days.

A good captain always goes down with his ship.
Easily done when there are no lifeboats attached to it.

I'm shooting up flares.
Is anyone there?
They sail right on by when you no longer care.

A man of action,
I was,
for a series of months.
I worked my *** off and fought all of my thoughts.

A constant distraction;
that's all I want.
No matter what happens,
I cannot get lost.
Caught up in longing for what never was.

Let me be a rock,
let life wash over me.
I'll stand solid in the middle of a stream.
Feeling no feelings.
Dreaming no dreams.
And worrying not about these waters that will erode me.

Put on suspenders and gave them a dance.
(When it comes to girls,
he hasn't a chance.)
I could care less about warnings and threats,
because for tonight
I know I'm the best dressed.

Went to a show and lost all control.
"I'm just here for the music.
I love it.
You know?"
Nine times out of ten,
they don't.

Went to a gym,
and never felt so depressed.
"I feel surrounded by lonely people desperate for ***."

This from a guy who proofreads his texts.
Spells out his laughs.
Drinks from the glass.

"What you need to do
is work on your shoulders, triceps, and chest."

Nah,
I'm good on that.
I'll just keep doing the things I like best.
"You'll never find a girl that way."
Ah,
give it a rest.

Do we all just come here to share our spirit of the stairs -
the things we wish we could have said
to the ones who don't care?
I wonder, what would they think if they read?
"Man,
what a freak -
so ****** in the head."

Do we choose to be poets,
or did it choose us?
If I told you writing is a roller coaster,
would you get a head rush?

Perhaps it's just that we care too much.
Painstakingly fretting over every word.
Is anyone even listening?
Tell me,
how much have you heard?

Burnt out psychenaut
trying his hand at making art.
Mosquito bitten,
from bed-ridden to facedown in the swamp.
Glorifying mind loss.
Tossed and turned in ocean waves.
Slamming into stop signs.
Disney's just a hindsight.
Theme parks just a crime spot.
Tourists just a foreground to hide what's in the backdrop.

Is pity passed down in the genes?
What about sympathy?
I fear I've inherited an overabundance of both.

It drains me to the point where I feel like a ghost.
Sometimes I wonder if I didn't die a long time ago.

Am I stuck in limbo,
just repeating the same old pattern?

I like it under this tree.
It makes me feel free,
I can say and think funny, silly, or sad depressing things.
I can just be me.

I want to sing,
I want to scream
at the top of my lungs.

I want to run full speed to the end of the sidewalk
and keep running after the concrete is gone.
I'll throw open my arms
to embrace whatever beauty I find waiting beyond.

Beware of anyone who claims to be in love with Ayn Rand.
Beware of anyone who fears what they don't understand.
Beware of overthinking,
and slipping into mental quicksand,
but if you do,
then don't be afraid of reaching out for a helping hand.

Hey you with your thinky pain,
your existential crises,
your broken bleeding heart beating in vain.
Hey you!
I say, hey!

Stop being a ****.

I got a little carried away
by the way you say my name.
A little caught up by your make-up.
Lost in your eyes -
it's hardly a surprise -
how easily I fall in love.

Oops.

I just made it real.
I've felt empty for so long,
and you made me feel.
(Oh, to feel!)
I didn't mean to project my feelings onto you,
but everyone seems so fake,
and you seem so real.

Oops.

I didn't mean to smile that time.
I've been trying to stay mad at you
for making me lose my mind.

Oops.

I've got to get away from you.
These feelings make me want to die.
I'm jealous of everyone you talk to.
Why can't you be mine?

Oops,
oh ****,
I really ****** up this time.
I can't see a thing,
your beauty's got me blind.
Abandon ship!
Get out fast!
I swore I'll never love again because it never lasts.

Oops.

I died.

I didn't mean to,
just like how I never meant to turn red
whenever I heard your voice.
It's just so full of life.
Could you please sing at my funeral now that I'm dead?
I bet that'll make 'em cry.

I know I left your place just minutes ago,
but it feels like it's been years.
I shouldn't drive while I'm seeing double,
it's a miracle that I can even steer.
I know a thousand people view me as a villain -
The root of all their drive-time fears,
but I've got my own troubles,
and there's no way I'm sleeping here.

Candid and branded,
he sold himself out.
Hardly can blame him for making a buck.
What's it to you how he made his debut?
I think you're just jealous-
he's done what you cannot do.
Call him unoriginal
(because you're so brand new)
The best come from old ideas reiterated for review.
Hate him if you like,
but I won't be sympathetic.
He was just more diligent where you were apathetic.

"I'm ugly."

"*******.
If you're ugly, then flowers are hideous,
and sunsets are a joke.
Butterflies nothing more than grotesque insects with over grown wings,
and the night sky is completely overrated.
If you're ugly, then a child's laughter is grating,
and music is just atrocious noise.
A smile's just a contortion of the face,
and poetry is just words.
If you're ugly, then a garden's just an arrangement of plants,
and dreams just nonsense played out in the brain.
Art would have no value,
and brilliant people would just be insane.

You are the farthest thing from ugly,
so don't say **** like that,
because if you aren't the most beautiful thing I've ever seen,
then beauty doesn't exist."

Wait, I swear I've felt this all before.
That thought followed by this scenery.
My idea of what she may have thought of me while I walked out the door.
This tree,
and how it depresses me.
I swear I've seen it all before.
Perhaps it was in a dream.
Maybe I'm living in a repeated pattern of the same old thing.
Just another thread woven inside of a tapestry.

There's too much gray for it to be appealing,
with the only color coming from the heart that I am stealing.
Just the beginning of a romance that I will never be forgiven.
These branches try to trap me with a guilt I'm not admitting.

Wait, I swear I've said there will be no more.
I've put it all behind me.
I'll find something else to live for.

Then suffocated by a rope made of that same old tapestry.
I swear I've strangled myself before.
Twitching on the carpet,
I've died a thousand times and more.

These trees offer to hang me
with gracious low-lying branches.
I deny them all again.
Not tonight,
but one day you'll get your chances.

Wait, why do I keep walking down the same old streets?
Is it some mad hope of running into the younger version of me?
Perhaps I already have in some half-remembered dream.
I'm haunted by these trees and plagued by memories.

I swear I've felt it all before.
Fumbling for my keys in order to get through the door.
Stumbling to my bed in a drunken stupor.
How the hell did I get here?
What am I living for?

I once knew a man
who said,
"Invest while you can."
I told him I didn't have any money.
"Well, I can't help you then."

I once met this kid
who told me his sins.
I couldn't say why,
I hardly knew him.
"You've a trustworthy face,
and you're leaving tomorrow."
But I never asked to be burdened by his sorrow.

I once loved a girl
who became my world.
I clung to her every single last word.
Then she was gone
to leave me in silence.
I replaced it with noises of hatred and violence.

I once had a choice
to make something new,
but I still hear her voice
telling me what to do.

I once spent a night
with a spirited punk.
Willful and passionate,
but down on his luck.
We painted the town red
and made Down the new Up.

I once read a book
that spelled out my life.
A real page turner,
though I know it's all lies.

Someone once told me
not to live in the past.
"Be here right now,
the future comes fast."
But I often look back
to cry or to laugh,
and on nights such as these
I'll write epitaphs.

Highly educated, low-life prince.
I heard he graduated but no one's seen him since.

I want to ***** out my insides so you can hear my swollen heart,
then stomp on it in front of you to make the beating stop.
You'll laugh, at worst. At best, you'll cry,
but you'll likely just feel pity.

"I ought to be more careful.
Sometimes I wish I wasn't so pretty!"

I wish I could burn your bridge without leaving myself stranded.
Trapped in the pasture with the rest of your sheep -
I've been sheared,
bitten,
and branded.

If I don't get out, I fear I'll suffer a brain aneurism.
How the **** did I get caught up in someone else's solipsism?

Next time you see me, I'll force myself into cardiac arrest.
To feel those lips against my own -
to taste your breath -
I swear,
I'd fake so many deaths.

If dying is the only way to kiss you,
then I'd rather be dead.
It'd be so much easier for me to never have to see you again.

No more singing,
and no more smiles.
No more haywired thoughts;
brain chemistry gone wild.
No more guilt,
and no more shame.
No more lost sleep.
No more mind games.

I'm in love with a lesbian;
I love when she laughs.
I'm in love with a straight man.
I'm in love with a ***.
I'm in love with a totally pretentious ***;
always self-flattering - I love how he brags.
I'm in love with a shy girl who hardly says a thing.
Quiet as a mouse,
but oh when she sings!
I'm in love with a dancer whose movements are poetry.
I'm in love with an artist who's modestly vain.
I am completely in love with a rationalist
if only because he's clearly insane.
I'm in love with a girl who's crazy about God.
I'm in love with another who spoils her dog.
I'm in love with the world when it's not bearing down on me.
Love as far as the eye can see.
I am in love with myself -
it feels good and true,
but more than anyone,
I'm in love with you!

Trees melted in the sun
and I realized that you are not the one to save me.
Nothing ever said or done will be enough to erase what I felt
while the earth surged up inside.
Thirty-six hours never felt so long.
I lived and died so many times.
I never knew I loved this song
until I heard you sing it.
A constant ring inside my head.
My crime now is to bring it back.
Cut off but don't leave any slack.
I swear my middle self was dead.
Your outer brought me back to life.
I hadn't felt it in so long.
I didn't think I'd ever hear it again.

I fell asleep in the branches of a cypress tree,
while I heard the barks of the hounds that are after me.
In my dreams I flew away on golden wings,
but a bullhorn brought me back to reality.

"We know that you're up there.
We know that you're hurt.
Why don't you climb down and let us treat your wounds."

"I'm comfortable here,
and halfway to the moon.
Why don't you *******?
I won't be down anytime soon."

"We're here because your family is worried about you.
They don't know where you are.
We're here to help you!"

"Nothing you say can help me now!
I'm here to stay; I'm not coming down!"

I hope skunk ape comes to tear you apart.
Serves you right for trespassing in his swamp.
Leave me alone,
my problems are my own.
I hope the ghost of Osceola comes to haunt your home.

"We're not going to leave.
Climb down while you can.
Don't make us come up there.
We can force this to end."

He climbed down all ****** with holes in his pants.
They arrested him on charges of public disturbance.

He just broke the record!
History is smashed.
Progress is proven through his action.
The old conquerer is past.
Let's celebrate this brand new glory,
and love it while it lasts.
Add a new page to this story.
This one now is best.
We will anxiously await
for the next one to surpass him.
Every victory is great,
but no win is everlasting.

I wish I had a time machine to go back and kick my own ***.
Or at least try to talk some sense into myself.
"Listen kid, this **** doesn't bode well. You're burning alive and headed for hell."
Maybe writing is its own kind of time travel.
Billy Pilgrim knows what I'm talking about.
"Chin up child. Stop playing wild. I know you're trying to make your own style,
but you'll lose more than you'll gain."
But before I step in and turn the dial, my future self comes back to slap my hand.
"Let it be," I'll say to me.
One day you'll understand.

I hate.
I hate, and hate, and hate.
I take a break
to read a book no one appreciates,
then clock back in
just to hate again,
and hate, and hate, and hate.
The things you love.
What you think is great.
Those are all of the things I hate.
I hate, and hate, and hate.
I hate myself for hating it.
I hate the way it makes me feel.
Like everything is meaningless.
Like nothing is even real.
I hate you so much for making me hate the way that I am.
I hate every situation that I find myself in.
I hate that I love you in spite of it.
I hate.
I hate.
I hate you for it.

I have trouble with existing,
as if I lack some proper requisite for insisting to persist.
I feel like just a composite of so many billion molecules.

I have a hard time defining truth.
So many contradictory influences tell me what to do.
I feel I'm better off sleeping straight through every single birthday.

I have never felt just simply okay.
Doubt hits me like a tidal wave.
It takes me away to far-off places,
and I can't say I mind it.

When you're twenty-five,
and find yourself watching Pinocchio -
completely horrified,
then it might be time to reevaluate your life.

(When you're lying in a field next to a bar,
singing a song while out of your head,
and your friends call your name because they don't know where you are,
so you stop singing because you'd rather be left for dead,
and later you're crying in your best friend's car
while thinking of all of the terrible things that you've said)

When you can't handle people being nice to you
because you think you don't deserve it -
when you can justify substance abuse
because you feel that you have earned it,
then it's about time that you grabbed the wheel
and turn it.

I'll swim after writing half an essay about my favorite philosopher.
I'll swim again and think of her.

I'll drown after agreeing to go out tomorrow night.
I'm not looking forward to being brought back to life.
I'll drown again and think of her.

I'll burn after I turn out the lights.
I can't sleep when my head isn't right.
I toss and turn and again, I burn.
All the while I think of her.

I'll melt as the dreams come on too fast
with desires of the one I cannot have.
Into a boiling ***,
I am thrown and stirred.
I'll melt again while I dream of her.

Is like a carousel,
and there's a pleasant sensation,
and it makes your head spin.
So many gaudy animals to choose from.
You get used to the dizziness.

The music is loud,
and there's an onlooking crowd.
It's so much fun
to go round and round.

Stay on too long and you forget how it feels
to be on stable ground.

These zebras and giraffes.
These benches and poles.
They do nothing for me anymore.
They've turned into hurdles.

You can't get anywhere
when you're just going in circles.

I keep having wacky dreams
followed by false awakenings in which
I'm telling the people who were featured in them about
the things that I've been dreaming
and then I wake up for real and realize
that no one's even listening.

Everything I've ever told you about me has been a warning.
I tried to cool down your warmth.
Please don't smile at me again.
I can't make you understand how much it's worth.

Everything I feel about you is way too intense.
I want to explain it,
but it doesn't make any sense.

Anything you say gets repeated infinitely
to leave me swimming in a pool of memories,
but my arms are tired and now I'm drowning.
The thought of you takes the breath out of me.

I'm caving in underneath the weight of what it means.
These are the kinds of things I've tried to stop myself from feeling.

Everything I've ever said to you has been a warning.
Every single one of them has gone ignored.
Please don't smile at me again.
I can't handle loving you any more.

Because when I think about you, it hurts,
yet I can't seem to stop.
I think about you all of the time.

Do you know what I'd like?
For my mind not to go haywire whenever you're around.
For my blood not to boil at the sound of your voice.
I wish I didn't want to die when I hold your stare.
I wish I could go back in time to before I even cared.
I hope one day you have children
even though you can't give birth,
and I hope one day I can think about you without it having to hurt.

I once read about a word that is defined as the pain that an idealist feels when reality inevitably falls short of his or her own grand ideas of how things could be.

I got filled up with something thrilling and I've been
spilling it out of me ever since.
Inspiration is the basis of how to make a difference.
Swelled up from songs and quotes
now spread them out into the world.

Pay it forward, play it back;
put that ride in gear
get it back on track.

There's a whole world of people down in the dumps.
If you've got passion and if you can feel love,
then extend your hand to pull the others up.

I am not above you.
You are a reflection of how I was before.
I'm no longer afraid to love you.
Let's both feel better and never let that misery touch us anymore.

This one's called "Running Under Streetlights on a Treadmill Made of Gravel"
Don't you ever wonder where you'd be without love?
There is no distance I wouldn't travel
to be under the arms of this oak.

This one is called "I Ain't Got All Night to Plot with the Moon,"
and this one's called "I'm Losing my Mind in the Middle of June,"
so give me a light, because this dark's ending soon.

I am a scarecrow lost in a tornado
(this one is called "You Can't Keep All of Your Straw.")
I am a glass figure in the midst of a hail storm.
This one is called "Where's my Umbrella?"

And I've found an answer,
so ask me the question.
This one is called "The Supreme and Holy Power of Suggestion"

Some nights are never ending.
This one's called "That Fruit Ain't Worth Eating if the Garden's Not Worth Tending"

So don't you judge me.
My antennae may be broken,
but my signal still sends,
and my mind is wide open.

How much of my history can you read from my mouth?
Can you make some sort of sense of what my life is about?
"You ought to quit smoking.
It's bad for your gums."
It seems my teeth are paying the price for how I like to have fun.
I dread the sound of that drill,
but I'm here of my own free will.
Please don't tell me that I have a cavity.
Ask me about my flossing habits,
and if I've been experiencing sensitivity.
I have.
You see, I've been having these dreams in which I'm spitting out all of my teeth.
I looked it up in Zolar's encyclopedia.
It reads:
Teeth falling out = death.
It's been ******* with me.
I found some other sources which state
that losing your teeth in dreams is a subconscious way of expressing anxiety.
Sounds about right.
I've been waking up in hot sweats every single night.
With a weight on my chest that feels like the precursor to death.
I've told my favorite non-friend about how lately I've been feeling a sense of impending doom.
Like I'm headed towards disaster.
She didn't have anything to say about it.
I guess I've always had a flair for the melodramatic.

My dad talks in his sleep.
He says the wackiest things.
My mom and my brother's fiancé  are on the back porch drinking.
He's asleep.
So is my niece.
She's on the couch next to me while I'm watching Louie.
This all after coming home from a party where the singer of my band tried to ****** me.
Before I drove home I did some drunken text messaging.
Sometimes, I swear,
I don't know what to think.
It's all so absurd,
yet charming in a way.
I fear I'm bound to go crazy.
I've got to get away.

I look onto the world,
and all that I can see
are tales of woe, success, heroes,
love, loss, pain, and tragedy.

I look back on my life
and see it just the same.
All of it so beautiful,
yet commonplace and plain.

I look onto the world,
and it looks back on me.
All that I can see,
all of it and everything;
nothing more than poetry.

It may sound strange to you,
but this is what we do.
After dealing with ******* all day long
we come here to tell the truth.

You may not understand why,
but this is how we get by,
and it may not make much sense,
but it makes us feel alive.

You may think it's all we know,
but this is how we grow.
Go and shove your "normal"
To us, you're the ******.