Why does every thing have to feel so hopeless
Even though I have passion and am ferocious
I am still held back from the dread;
Of this devastating psychosis

I am left stuck up in my head
Thinking about all the things that need to be said
But I still feel that coldness;
Wishing I was dead

I feel so boneless
I wonder if any one would even notice
All these feelings I wish I could shed;
So my heart doesn't feel so soulless

I wonder if I have bin miss lead
I wonder if in the end I will be whole or just a shred
But I think my only prognosis;
Is this feeling will soon spread
And things will really become hopeless

Stuck in the silence in between
my present self and a memory.
Desperately trying to create a hero
for a story that may never be told.

I can pinpoint the instant of uncertainty;
driving towards a fabricated persistency
just days after your final chapter.
Of course I was absorbed in my thereafter.

Despite all your failure, success, and fear;
in that moment you disappeared.
Leaving me to inherit your dismay;
a melancholy filter over the standard display.

A selfish thought towards a selfless love;
had two brothers, now I barely have one.
Constantly reminded of life’s impermanence
while searching for a perpetual state of purpose.

I'd hope that you'd see my perspective through all my projections,
all these interjections that came from the lessons in moments I have been tested.
And now it feels like I am testing the deity that moves within me.
Though I am not He, He is the sum of I.
Oh my, time flies through the darkest pits of my eyes.
Watching the sun rise and night fall,
when all befalls - the very reason I used to crawl, being held up by the only walls in the home that I would call,
or the walls that I mounted up to protect my heart from the very things that would ask me to halt or at least stall.
looking at them like "don't you know that I want it all?"
They ask me why I want it at all,
and I'm glad they asked.
Recognizing my purpose through every task is what I have asked myself to master.
Through disaster and through the water, the intentions that I offer will be as pure as water at the alter.
And I can be even softer than that.
But I can also be the one that never calls back, Depending on how you act.
Depending on how you blend with my plan of attack, we can be vast or we can retract every statement ever spoken when my love was awoken, out in the open.
They leave me exposed,
fully clothed,
stripping me of the trust I pulled from the instinct of my gut.
So it is a must that I, remain in sight, to self love that I, composed tonight.
It is the same love of yesterday, that never ran away, even when they, hold my hand while they turn their face.

Silence won't defend us in the sacred wars of our minds,
Time holds the only key to how we might survive.

A deafening screech won't keep us safe from whatever is under our beds,
stars are the ones who lost their sanity, their minds and their heads.

Oak tree, old and bold,
Green are his leaves,
Brown is his soul.
His mind is wise,
From the beginning of time,
He stood,
He stands,
In His secret society's shrine.

A river that runs red,
A blood clot causes death,
The wind cries,
Time flies,
Then slows down
And passes by.

Dreams were not made for this,
Nothing was.