There's no path harder,
Than taking a wrong turn,
And walking,
Where you don't belong.

Every step is a labor,
Each sight is nightmarish,
And you scream,
Inside to turn around.

But them's is the breaks.
Behind is reflection,
Of a path,
Which you can never return.

So all that's left is hoping,
Through blurry eyed madness,
That light in you,
Won't cease to burn.

I wish i could say words don't have edges...
I wish I could say they're full of fluff.

But words all my life have been serrated.
And my skin, was never quite thick enough.

The old adage about sticks and stones,
Never really meant much to me.

Because words have never felt very blunted.
And from them, I so often bleed.

If I didn't think they held true intention,
Maybe, just maybe I'd get along.

But it seems after years of torture by stereo,
A world of words, is a place I don't belong...

A long time ago,
A little bird sat on my shoulder.
It whispered, it fluttered, it grinned.

It wasn't so much,
Just the ever so slight annoyance.
But it was far, so far, from a friend.