I was built without a brain, and simply designed to scare
I'm not here to build on love and I can't make myself care

Maybe I don't have a heart, perhaps the tin man's a thief
I'm not sure what I can do
To obtain some sweet relief

I'm too scared to work on things, cowardly like that large cat
And when I meet the wizard here, I can ask him to fix that

But I'd also like to ask him if he could send me home
I have way too many wishes, and I'm feeling rather thrown

you’ve had your whole future mapped out
since you were 16, sitting in homeroom
and hand-picking your life.
me, i’ve got no plans to speak of,
still trying to figure myself out;
everything major still undecided and undeclared
because pandora’s box is
always really pretty until you open it,
and the future’s really alluring until you’re in it
and you’re wondering if it really fits.
and i know it’s stupid trying to
plan for a car crash,
to plan on ******* up  
but i’ve been trying to take precautions
in case i don’t grow into who you were counting on.
i keep your promises tucked in my pocket,
you make vows just to talk about it.
and i don’t know much about fate
because once my horoscope actually told me
that i’ll be alone and unloved forever,
born under an unlucky star,
so i’m not placing my trust in the stars
even if sometimes i get the sneaking suspicion
they might just be right.
i’m trying to dictate my own future without having a tongue,
i’m trying to find a future i’ll be content living in.
people are always waiting for time to run out,
and i’ve always been waiting for the fall out.
because i know all good things have to end
all bands have to break up, all stars have to explode,
all slow dances have to still, and eventually
all loves have to run out in one way or another.
and i’ve got front row seats to
the inevitable explosion
because you’re a heart attack and i’m totally doomed
we’re just bombs going off too soon
we’re just strangers dancing in a crowded room
we’re just ****** up and wishing on the moon
we’re just racking up casual causalities
we’re just reading our fortunes
in the coffee grinds and tea leaves,
half-joking and half-a-little-too-honest
when you peered at yours and said,
“it says we’re gonna grow old and grey together,
and move out of the city and have a bunch
of loud mouthed kids with your eyes.”
i don’t know about the future
and i suppose you’d like to tell me about it,
after all you’ve had your whole future mapped out
since you were 16, sitting in homeroom
and hand-picking your life.
but it’s an affliction, all those ******* predictions.
don’t tell me where you want to be in five years in from now;
tell where you’re actually going to be tomorrow.
because i was dying for this week to be over
and then i was dying for this year to be over.
and i can see it clearly,
my whole life lived in transit
on the way to something else.
i was dying to finish high school
and then i was dying to finish college
and then i was just dying,
and i forgot to live in the present in my rush
to get to the future.

Like thread in the tapestry,
So delicately woven,
With intricate detail,
Vibrant design, and such precise pattern,
We were once alive and full of life.

Our creation became a masterpiece.
A unique piece, significant to the rest,
Handcrafted with genuine love;
We devoted time,
With pure emotion
We didn't care for slight imperfection.

Our foundation has now become worn out,
As if our colours have been faded by the rays of the sun.
Little rivets show signs of wear and tear.
No longer an original,
It seems more like a hand me down.
One that has just been collecting dust,
Or has been settling inside the wooden chest,
Stored away in time.

If you wish to bid farewell of this work of art,
Please lay it down with gentle ease
There's no need for it to be a burden any longer.

One man's trash,
Just still may be another's treasure.

I hate the fact that I can come up with stories for people who never lived,
Or a poem about things that happened when I was a kid,
But I can't figure out how to remember the quadratic equation,
And nothing good comes out of my power of persuasion.

I have no idea what comes out of having a creative mind,
But not being able to do complicated math in record time.

I hate that I would rather spend hours coming up with a metaphor to describe the panic I feel,
Than learn things that are supposed to help me make enough money to pay for even one daily meal.

I spent more time trying to write this,
Than I ever would trying to understand functions and statistics.

But writing ****** poetry isn't going to help me,
When I don't even have the slightest idea what I want to be.