Black rooms become clearer as my mind only seems to fog,
Wishing only off to drift by these hours that I log,
As dawn draws close and the room grows lighter,
I grip to these few hours I may yet grasp a little tighter.
No shape or way I lay hold me any peace,
Though the thoughts that hold me captive they never seem to cease,
For louder they shout as silence walls to the night,
Though my body and eyes are aching my mind grows stronger with the light,
These hues of grey that form my room seem to be audience to my sleep,
For the only way for me to leave is the secret that they keep,
While against the weight of energy tomorrow demands I try to lift,
I beg for to be awake tomorrow but now to sleep I drift.

How great it would be,
To walk up to you maybe say a line or two,
But the person you meet wouldn't be me,
Because that is something I would never do,
So here is my paradox of existence,
The way I live my life means I don't take the chances,
Unrelenting torture of my minds persistence,
Tends to ruin any of my potential romances,
So maybe I'll look from a afar,
Imagine a life and our love as a roaring fire,
You becoming someone new, as I imagine you are,
A perfect object of my desire,
So you could never match my imagined version,
You are no longer the you I know,
But these are idled perversions,
My minds loneliness creating itself a show,
I would like to say hello,
Maybe I could make you laugh or stay,
But I figure its best for me to go,
Our imagined life together drifts away.

It began with a shot in the dark,
A chance to surpass what was expected,
But after such a short distance,
My body is affected,
My bodies screaming,
My legs are lead,
The only part still running,
Is the brain within my head,
Others are so far ahead,
Success is within their grasp,
While I'm still crawling trudging on,
Been so long since they first passed,
They've settled down ,
With those they've found,
They chose to stop where they did,
Whereas I hit the ground,
While I clamber for love, a career and peace of mind,
Trying to find my own pace,
I'm stunted for this moment in time,
I've lost the human race.

I sit alone staring through a frame,
At a face staring back who himself has the same name,
And although right now he is me, and I know it's true,
One day he'll be a face, that once upon a time I knew.

He is a boy on the precipice of becoming a man,
He is doubtful he will become the man he thinks he can,
His eyes, though small are young and relatively new,
Have gone greyer now from when they were once bright blue.

The frame which holds this face he is now growing into,
Is still rounded in its whole, like his previous self he knew,
His hair is long, but not as long as it was before,
(Though he likes it shorter and thinks nevermore, he knows it won't be short forevermore),
But at present it nearly hides the ears on both sides, long at the back and wavy at the fore.
His brow is heavy and his forehead wrinkled before it's time,
More of his head is shown by his retreating hairline of mine,
(What battle does it retreat from, could I not avoid this crime?).

His lips though fat are small and pink, like his pudgy rounded nose that sits,
Above those lips, beneath those eyes of his with dark circles within their mitts,
His cheeks are big, as are his hips and waist,
His big round head, has a somewhat a solemn sunken face.

To return back to previous mention where,
Mentioned was his hair,
It is darker now from when it was blonde and bright,
Does it darken with ones soul, one wonders if it might.

All and all I believe this faith still holds some hope,
Not as much as once held, he is now somewhat more of a misanthrope,
But although his eyes seem sorrowful and sad,
I believe faces from future frames will be more glad.

And to this face I see now and know
I bid farewell as I turn to go
To leave and remove this frame from view
I say my final goodbye, to this face that I once knew.

Inhale.
This life of living to loving to longing for too long,
Before we know it winter draws and the song is sung,
But this moment, this is life,
Pain, joy, charity and sacrifice,
The bad molds us just as the good does,
This mortal clay through which our blood courses,
And the life it forces from parental sources,
Becomes ignored so easily,
That clocks tick tock moves silently, teasingly,
So that all too soon meaning is lost in stress,
The mess bore of intertwining consciousness,
It's important to pause,
To take a moment away from economic constructs and socialites laws,
To take one second, to breathe in and breathe out
And within a breaths brief eternity attempt to grasp what life's about.
Exhale.

Be a man, reflect myself as authority at any point I can, be strong and assertive aggressive insert anger into everything I am.
Be a man, make every women around be scared, with my Hetero ****** nature flared and disrespect every love who ever cared.
Be a man, treat women like trophies and power as breath, never meet eye to eye but see her heart blocked by *******, never be weak or flawed and never be torn apart, make sure every other man knows how much a man I am right from the start.
Be a man, don't enjoy art unless it can be used to fool girls to think I have a caring attitude, be slave to **** and seek *** out like food, **** as much as I can ****, never be a *****. Be lude and rude and exude nothing but a constant raw need for my needs to be for-filled, that I am here to ensure by my act every woman is thrilled.
Understand there is no line between competition and compensation of another's care or careful caressing, touch whoever I want without their blessing, make sure no girl can pass without your eyes ******* and I'm guessing that every girl should instantly know how great and unique I am. But none of this is offensive, derogatory or degrading, I'm just being a man.

I unlike bullets am uncertain,
while we both hold in chambers with blackout curtains,
I lack a hammer with which for my certainty to take form,
or a casing over which people could mourn,
come the dawn we both would be spent,
and those who remember us would lament ,
over days we both were whole,
not one fused to the other mind and soul,
but my uncertainty lends to fear that bullets don't have,
my skin is weak I am not iron clad,
not bound to a course of which my heart would lie with,
but both bullets and I have an end to die with.