Deconstructing this house made of stone,
I'm a destructive force, no one get in my way,
I promise I won't hurt you, even so,
I'm just defensive and depressive.

There's no enemy on the other side,
Only on mine,
My ticking time bomb fades after winter.

A best friend is just enough for me,
Cause I've got a head full of my own enemies,
The stock hasn't gone down,
This surplus,
I'm nervous,
My carcass,
Is beckoning me to the grave.

Atop a self-made treehouse,
I’m a self-created personality,
Tree beneath, you’re my morality,
Clouds up above, weak spirituality.

Sitting on the edge,
Where the treeline meets the sky,
Not one of these birds know why,
But they’ve found that they cannot fly,

Where do I want my hands,
These detached brainteasers.

Inside my closet?
Or under my desk?

It's been difficult to write lately,
Stuck inside the words of Rhymezone,
It's going on day eighty,
Can't write without breaking my collarbone.

You might see,
I'm outside,
standing with the banshee,
I'm so awake, wide.

Arms out against the cold,
Wind is blowing, I'm told,
"Possibility becomes reality."
I just wanna run down the town,
Look at the seeds that you have sown.

The seats you have left untouched,
Are feeling like you were unjust,
To the friends you have lost,
Sing that song of Home,
It'll forgive you for Rome.