Got so many problems in my head
Continuously living, but I feel dead
Tellin' me to be happy but I feel dread
Maybe I should roll over and go back to bed

People are sick, twisted in their minds
All of our souls trapped in the binds
Falling apart as the string unwinds
I'm hunted by demons of all different kinds

Some made of anger, some made of hope
Some come out swing after one puff of dope
I can't tell, how deep is this *****?
I keep on trying but there's no way to cope

With this disease, rotting my brain
Help me please, I think I've gone insane
Collecting the pieces that remain
All while keeping my heartbreak contained

Thoughts of pure rage and eternal sadism are locked behind penatrating blue eyes, intentions cruel and filled with a darkened sense of immorality. Slowly yet surely it seeps deeper within the heart, consuming all kindness and sympathy that the soul has left to offer. Scaring the mind of the ****** as it fights this curse. Day after day, the haunted shadows creep closer, their fingers outstreched as they attempt to capture her heart and mind. She screams, but the cotton of the pillow poors into her throat muffling her to a soft whimper. Her body pulses, twiching but only in minimal movements. No signs of struggle, but inside she sees it all, the blood, the corpse, the weapon firmly grasped. By the end of this masterpiece, she drops her paintbrush, the blood running down her own body as her eyes open to the soft and warm sheets of the bed.

Is it true, that me and you
All have felt the same?
Through our lives, we live it "right"
Just to feel the pain?
Have you ever forced a smile?
Or tried to pass your blame?
Because of so, I hope you know
You aren't alone in this game

The lions outside of your door
The wolf is in your bed
The lion's claws are sharpened for war
The wolf's teeth are red
And what a monstrous sight he makes, mocking man's best friend
The lion and the wolf both crave the same thing in the end

Poems become tears,
When reality sinks in,
When Art brings despair,
And paintings become cries.
Dances become disgraces,
Songs pour out insecurities,
Genius bring forth controversy,
Boldness becomes cowardice,
Dreams make disasters,
And Death rules over Life,
When reality sinks in.

Reality, that is.
Reality.
Is that reality?

In sinks reality when
Life overrules Death, and
Disasters make dreams.
Cowardice becomes boldness,
Controversy forth bring genius,
Insecurities outpour songs,
Disgraces become dances,
Cries become paintings; and
Despair brings art when
In sinks reality; when
Tears become poems.

Sometimes
All it takes
Is good music
To make my day
That's it
That's all I have to say

I wish I could tell you of every
Passing thought I forgot
To write down
The ones that escape like Bobby pins
On a slick bathroom sink
Oh I wish you could know the same
Every phrase
All those days
That compiled together
Formed the rubber band ball at my center
Able to be stretched three hundred and forty seven miles
And still not snap
I wish you knew
All I thought of you

You can’t forget;
that there is another way to fight
with an open palm
instead of a closed fist
and with a stubborn refusal
to hurt those who have hurt you