I write of spring in autumn
of summer in winter
I like to be where I'm not
to cheat on time
fantasy
is so much better

We all have that speck of dirt
It may be your lack of comfort
Or the past and all its anger
But at times its of no danger

It could be your need to be you
Or your darkest inhibitions coming true
There are all kinds of outcomes
Some with resolutions or more problems

'cause we all live in a little glass box
As true as waves hitting the shores rocks
We find ourselves surrounded by ourselves
Not knowing about the dust on the top of our shelves

Others will tell us their opinions and views
But that's like playing with a bomb fuse
We deny our faults in front of them all
No matter how big or how small

We are oblivious to who we are
We don't know if we're dust or a star

- E.A.F

Screaming but nobody can hear you.
Breaking and there's nothing you can do.

All the voices make you insane.
The demons make you feel drained.

You feel so alone.
You wish that they had known.

Are you drowning?
Watching everyone around you breathing, your stuck falling down.

That my friend, is called depression.
Your soul has now been blacken.