I speak inside my brain
and then my heart replies.
I've lived my life as the rain
falling down from the vacant skies.
I told you that I loved you
and truer words were never spoken,
but how much can one person do,
when paradise is broken?

I turn my back on memories
but they still slap me in the face,
the emotions get the best of me
when I'm standing in the wrong place.
I told you that I'd keep you dry
even though I myself was soakin'
but how hard can one person try
when paradise is broken?

The pastel colours were fake,
except the black and white,
I shaded it all for the sake
it was not pleasing to my sight.
In every single dream I drown,
I always give up on that fight,
until I'm buried in the ground
I'll dream that struggle every night.

Heaven is over occupied
they stopped letting just any folk in,
and purgatory is mystified
'cause paradise is broken.

I long for the free birds
with their hazardous flapping wing
and the way they spin their words
into gentle songs we sing.
I told you I was missing my mind
I just could never rope it in,
how much can one person find
when paradise is broken.

The pastel colours were fake,
except for the black and white,
I needed the blue for a lake,
and the red for the ****** fight.
In every dream I'm alone,
I try to change that with all my might,
you spoke aloud in a wrong tone
but atleast the words were right.

Heaven is over occupied
I wish I never had woken,
and Hell is now justified
cause paradise is broken.

You own; each beat from my chest, both lungs and every breath,
what I have and all the rest,
my life until my death.

Speaking in code, chanting in tongues,
a heavy load; it drains my lungs.
Tell me a secret, 'cause I'll never tell,
I'll never leak it and I'll never sell.

Stumbling while still, my feet are not mine,
you've had your fill but I'll have another line.
Tell me a secret, 'cause I'll never tell,
I'll always keep it even when burning in Hell.

My blank pages are your swirling oceans,
I've been moving through stages
and drowning in emotions.
Breaking all the promises
like you're breaking out of chains,
when you've had nothing; there's nothing to miss,
only the void ever remains.

Ripping at my skin, it's not an itch but scratching frustration,
and my day wants to begin but I've lost all motivation.
Tell me a secret, 'cause you know I'll never tell,
even when I'm defeated, even when I have fell.

My silent replies are your swirling oceans,
I've got the hollow eyes, from going through life's motions.
Breaking all the promises
like we've been breaking bread,
and I only saw a glimpse of bliss
from those few words that were said.

Staring at a broken phone,
there's no contacts, I'm so alone.
A broken heart is not a broken bone.

Staring at a broken phone,
there's only silence, I miss that dial tone.
A broken heart is not a broken bone.

As I slide on through the wet pavement,
the puddles don't vibrate or shake.
The rain doesn't stall, the drops continue their fall,
each splash pushes my cracks to break.

As I sit under a dark blanket of stars,
I reach out into only empty air.
No one passes by, I don't catch a single eye,
I'm plagued and cursed but can't bring myself to care.

A reward for my lost mind,
a rainbow for the colourblind,
emptiness fills to the core.
Hectic routine clearly outlined,
lip bit and my teeth grind,
I've been hiding in a metaphor.

While I sail through the sky with no safety net,
no bird seems worried for my form,
they don't even blink, they just watch on as I sink,
and they're ready and anxious for my body to swarm.
I always was known as a storm.

A reward for my lost mind,
a rainbow for the colourblind,
emptiness fills to the core.
The sun never showed or shined,
it was stuck, chained in a bind,
I've been hiding in a metaphor.

Once walked along each path
with only untied shoes,
and I felt heartbreak's wrath,
and the old lovers blues,
got the brittle in each bone
and my spine's growing weak,
in the end we all die alone,
but I witnessed a smile in each beak.

A reward for my lost mind,
a rainbow for the colourblind,
emptiness fills to the core.
A mute that never signed,
A soul too late to find,
I've been hiding in a metaphor.

Into the shadows I blend,
never to see light again,
I've been holding doors to my metaphors for you.
Into the shadows I blend,
one day the dark will be a trend,
I've been holding doors, hands covered in sores for you.

Oh I was on fire that night,
now the stars blur in my sight,
I've been holding doors to my metaphors for you.
You know I'm here just like I was then,
I will be there when you come again,
I've been dying and crying on hardwood floors for you.

There's no simile to describe me,
no comparing or analogy,
just one white blank page.
There's no simile to describe me,
no imagery or allegory,
just one lonely cage.

My soul came back, quick like lightning,
and it's arrival was not welcome.
Sporting a fresh crack under whitening,
bound with a fate to always be numb.
Everyone desperately craves originality,
but they don't realize the isolation.
There doesn't seem to be a solid home for me,
amongst this dust and desolation.

Horror of hollow, living on the brink of life.
Tomorrow I'll swallow my words that cut like a knife.
I'll document the destruction and bring it to light,
I hope the eruption satisfies your appetite.

The walls were tainted with love struck scribbles,
written in every colour of the rainbow,
so we painted but there still were dribbles,
I slept in a made bed and always reap what I sow.
What does it matter if it's in the past?
There's no reasons that I've found.
But I see a pattern of what doesn't last
and you know lately I'm always down.

You went to rub salt in my wound
I told you that I've had my fill.
You informed me the world was doomed,
and you were looking forward to the thrill.

Horror of hollow, living on the brink of life.
Borrow and follow the world's sense of strife.
I'll document the destruction and bring it to light,
just because that's how you feel it doesn't make it right.

I never knew much about other souls,
until I watched one fall apart,
crumbling from all the cracks and holes,
stemming out from a broken heart.
I was never fluent in social clues,
the ones that tell you what you want to hear,
instead I'd sit silent ready to lose,
what I loved all due to fear.

Horror of hollow, living on the brink of life.
Explorer of wallow, bestfriend and a wife.
I'll document the destruction and bring it to light,
I'll underline the tragedy and italicize my might.
I'll document the destruction and bring it to light,
but how will anyone know if it never makes it into sight?

First level was simple denial,
I argued with myself for awhile,
counted each and every bathroom tile
while I waited until sedated so that I could smile.

I felt the anger twinge inside myself,
I cursed all the time spent seeking wealth,
and bathed in loathing for my careless lack of health,
and my inability to ever ask for much needed help.

They say no one is ever ready to die
and there's always regrets when you go,
but when my number's up I won't try
I won't fight; I'll have no punches to throw.
Five stages and seven hells,
turn the pages and hope it sells.

Next was bargaining but I had nothing to give,
no reason to be here, no reason left to live,
but I took my chance on a lie a and fib,
and offered up my heart along with a shred of rib.

Every layer always gets warmer,
until it surely burns your skin,
you'll find the next is worse than the former,
is this the punishment for sin?

They say no one is ever ready to die
and there's always regrets when you go,
but to say life is short would be a lie,
'cause some of us just feel it's too slow.
Five stages and seven hells,
open the cages and ring the bells.

Depression walked in like an old friend,
it was no big change, there was no letter to send.
I realized I was defective with no chance to mend,
my spine officially broken even though I didn't bend.

Then acceptance finally washed over me,
with a conclusion some things are just not meant to be,
I didn't bow my head or fall on one knee,
words can't describe that feeling of being free.

They say no one is ever ready to die
and there's always regrets when you go,
I hope to find a comfortable home in the sky,
or atleast in soil for something else to grow.
Five stages and seven hells,
I'll live through the ages, constantly shedding my shells.

I keep a cloth by the door
to not let the cold breeze in,
but I'm a tornado living on the floor,
just waiting for the winds to begin.
Causing chaos and destruction,
wherever it is I choose to go,
battling a volcanic eruption
and tossing around the piles of snow.

I'll tear apart your home and family,
I'll toss around the life you live,
I'll admit it was never my plan, you see
but scorched earth is all I have to give.

No weather man or meteorologist
can give you warning about my arrival,
with all I wreck I ask "what's the cost of this,
when it's competing with my survival?"
I was once only a rain cloud,
then one day I became a storm,
my transformation never made me proud,
but my strength and power did keep it's form.

I thrive off the ice cracking,
under my heavy feet.
I'm beyond hunting or tracking,
I'm left here only to compete.
Each breath you exhale with cold air
is just my form of a sweet kiss.
Everytime, no fail, I'll be there,
I'll never be something you miss.

I'll tear apart the world as you know it,
I'll toss around the life you live,
I swear I have a heart I just don't show it,
'cause scorched earth is all I have to give.

When the winter winds grow cold,
I might turn to ice, I haven't made up my mind.
With a soul of mold and body of Christ,
you'll see that you've turned snow blind.
Silent nights and transparent stars,
it's all backdrop to my catastrophe.
When I whip on by I'll leave you with scars
and claim it's just a sweet memory.

I'll strip you down until the bone,
I'll take away the life that you live,
the trees and green grass is just a loan,
as scorched earth is all I have to give.

The static speaks my name and it's driving me insane,
the night's stars are it's eyes and I watch it right back.
Shadows cast on the blame, but still lighting up the pain,
I'm covered up under the skies with a veil pitch black.

The silence overloads my brain, and each thought's wasted in vain,
with a million possibilities that will never occur.
I am shackled with a moral chain, but it supports me to refrain
from a sense of humility that I can't ever deter.

I find each locked door more outrageous,
and I'm left like before, wondering if I'm contagious.
Why would they comfort me instead,
of putting a gun straight to my head?

The static speaks my name with pronunciation it can't obtain,
if white noise could stutter it'd probably have quite the drawl.
Questioning if I should feel shame, if I'm a painting or a stain,
or just a curse you mutter like graffiti on the bathroom stall.

I find it all dizzying and real dangerous,
I'm wondering if my misery is contagious.
Why would they comfort me instead,
when they could just leave me in my bed?

The static shrieks,
the floorboard creaks,
the river's dry but the faucet leaks.
The static shrieks,
years came from weeks,
I live in quiet, only silence speaks.

I plan my life in different stages,
I wonder if my strife is contagious.
Why would you comfort me instead,
of letting me follow the path you led?