I don’t really believe in aliens
Only the ones in my head
I don’t believe in monsters
Except the demons under my bed

I’m sick and tired of feeling feelings
That I know they’re not
I’m living in a horror movie going on in my head
That I just can’t turn off
I don’t know why I have obsessiveness
It doesn’t really make sense because it’s not like I deserve this
Or do I?

Sometimes I can just drown myself in sad songs
And not even feel a **** thing
Some days I hear a love song
And I’ll cry until I can’t breathe

I’m not writing this to try to get pity
I’m just asking why the hell does my mind
Keep playing on repeat?

This keeps happening to me
I begin to fall
And I’m trying my hardest
To convince myself it’s not my fault

Just thinking about,
I begin to shiver
“Almost over night, my world began to darken
And hope seemed to wither”

Back in middle school, after I said I was depressed,
They made me sign a piece of paper that said I wouldn’t **** myself
But a piece of paper is just a piece of paper
Doesn’t make a difference, can you tell?

Yes, I’ve made some stupid, pathetic decisions
In the past that weren’t so wise
I’m just trying to find the welcome mat into my life

I used to think talking to her was the best thing,
The greatest victory I’m focused on
But it’s been two years and she went away
I’m okay with that so I guess you could say I’ve moved on

All those stupid things I said
Can’t believe I had the nerve
And God ******, I’m sick and tired
Of acting on an urge

One of the reasons this came back to get me
Is because I judge
Despite the fact that I go to church
And they tell me not to hold a grudge

So Father, heal me.
Forgive me of my shameful sins
Just rid me of hatred and all those demons
And just finally let my life begin

The soul, O ganders, flies beyond the parks
And far beyond the discords of the wind.

A bronze rain from the sun descending marks
The death of summer, which that time endures

Like one who scrawls a listless testament
Of golden quirks and Paphian caricatures,

Bequeathing your white feathers to the moon
And giving your bland motions to the air.

Behold, already on the long parades
The crows anoint the statues with their dirt.

And the soul, O ganders, being lonely, flies
Beyond your chilly chariots, to the skies.