To feel is to hurt.
To hurt is to cry.
To cry is relief,
And the ultimate relief is death.
So in reality, isn't to feel really to die?

Locked in an
insane
            asylum
they are called crazy by all.
Sitting, sitting, staring;
Ranting about aliens,
watching the toddler
    float, floating
in the air in front of them.
On a schedule,
    tick, tick, ring
goes the bell.

They believe what
       you
or I
will not.
They see the world
the way we
       never
will.
"You're delusional,
up is up, not
       umop
Wrong is wrong,
       not write."

But what if,
not impossibly,
for the
             better,
not him
or her is delusional,
but
       you
or I?

Again and again,
Round and round,
The carousel keeps spinning.

It won't stop until I choose,
To die or keep on living.

The more I watch,
The worse it gets,
the horses all so blurry.

I must decide,
Yet still I hide.
After all, what's the hurry?

So I will take it day by day,
And watch the carousel spin on.

For now at least,
Again and again,
Round and round,
The carousel keeps spinning.

God You made the Wind.
You made it perfect,
Yet we fear the Wind.
The Wind brings storms.
The Wind means hurricane and tornado.
The Wind is not pure.
It's full of pollution.
But that was all our fault.

You made it beautiful.
You made it useful.
You made Wind perfect.

Sweet dreams are coming soon
Sometime after noon
So go to sleep and be rested
For when you wake you will be tested

So don't be worried
Go to sleep and not feel hurried
However, before you slip away
Remember to thank God for the day

Don't think how soon till you wake
Sweet dreams your thinking may take
Though small details of the morrow you may have some
In the morning something you might become

You're not the only one feeling lonely, even when surrounded
You're not the only one that feels too far gone
You're not the only one who feels unworthy of being saved
You're not the only one who's been abused by someone you love
You're not the only one who wished it would all end
You're not the only one who's turned to other things
You're not the only one who's tried to run away
You are the only one who can choose to live another day

The old tend to say,
That we're the ones to blame.
The Forgotten Generation.

I ask,
How can we be blamed,
When they themselves made the choices?

None of us had yet the voices to raise!
So how can they claim,
That we are to blame?

For the first time in American history,
We may not make the climb.
Our futures may get worse,
Not as in the past.

Stuck in a moving stream,
We have no ideals to last.
We have no original thoughts to think!
And yet,
We continue to be expected to Rise,
To Dream.

Maybe we'll look at life with a wink.
Maybe we do beat the challenge from the
    past.
Maybe The Forgotten becomes The
    Remembered.
Who knows?

There is a civil war going on inside.
It seems to be painfully infinite.
It is full of self-hatred, loathing.
It is confusing, chaotic.
You want to cry, you cannot.
It is out of control.
It makes you angry.
What can you do,
but nothing?
*******.
Why?

I tried..
You failed.
At least I won't regret..
They rejected you.
I can try again..
You'll lose again.
Some people do better..
You're not that special.
But maybe..*
No.

No tears will I shed
I've lost too many tears already
Inside I know I'm crying
My heart broke in two as I went to bed

My emotions are unsteady
I don't know how to feel
I'd say a part of me's been ripped out
Myself, fragile as someone's old teddy

Not to forget but to cope I am trying
It's so different without her being here
I still go to take care of her
Warm tears it seems to be implying

I can't lock it away with a crimson seal
But won't the stained memory go away
Could not it fade to but a speck
But alas it wasn't to be for I can recall it vividly and good memories it always seems to steal

First Peter 5:7 tells you to cast your anxieties out no matter what about
To cast them on The Lord because He cares for us, for me
So I got down on my knees and prayed
It's still been hard but God has been and still is with me without a doubt

No, no, no, no.
Yeah, maybe.

Okay, but why?
Because it is what it is.

Is it, though?
Yeah, maybe.

But what if it's the opposite?
No, no.
Well, maybe.

I think it is.
No. It can't be.

Okay, but why?
Because it is what it is.

But what is it?
It's that thing.

Can you explain?
Yeah, maybe.

Okay.
It's that thing.

Go on.
That everyone has.

What does everyone have?
The same thing, but different.

How can it be both same and different?
Because it is what it is.

Keep going.
Everybody feels it.
Feels what?

The thing.
What is the thing?

The thing is whatever you think it is.

I want to change my name, and run away to a deserted island,
Cry myself to sleep, then sleep for an eternity.

I want to scream,
But I can't.

I want to just blink,
And things be different.

I want to feel in control of my life,
Independent.

I want an unlimited supply of fuel,
To travel across the country.

But it doesn't matter what I want,
Because life is what it is.

Conform. Conform. Conform.

I have to stop feeling,
Stop wanting,
Stop caring,
Stop having my own thoughts.

Otherwise,
I'll be eaten alive,
From the inside out.