Roses, bullets, and a Bible
Guided my life
A shine for my light
My happiness was never trifle
My smile was bright
My heart was kind

   Roses, bullets, and a Bible
   Blind my light
   Pervert my sight
   Not prepared for Blue
   Not by a mile
   But lost, through and through
   Youth's too cruel
      
      Roses, bullets, and a Bible
      Broken shards
      Build my scars
      Happiness is only trifle
      But maybe I'm still good
      I hope I can still be good

How can anyone know me
When they don't even know my name
How can anyone teach me
When all that they crave is fame
They don't know how my world destroyed me
They don't know the monsters I struggle to tame
They don't know me
They don't know my name

Once upon a time
The man I trusted lied
Hair clad in blue dye
'Twas the night my soul died
He took my body and ran
Overwhelmed me with his span
Legs and mouth open wide
'Twas the night my soul died
Now it's almost been a year
I thought I'd overcome the fear
Yet when I wake I fear his smile
Getting my soul back will take a while

i'm always naked
sure, it's beneath my visible clothes
and yeah, when i'm in the shower
and more or less every time i'm home alone
but there are other times
other whimsical nonsensical times
when i'm fully ****
and nobody even notices
when i'm raw
when i expose any facet of my idiosyncrasies
when i fall
when i suppose i'm in pain purposefully
when i draw
when i paint with a purpose to show my sadness and rage
when i write
when i put words to use in the way conversation betrays
people react to ****** in various levels of extreme
some get aroused
some get repulsed
but nobody seems to appreciate the nakedness of my raw mind
completely exposed
full frontal
appreciate it or just don't look

Everyone coming and going
Right past me
Not realizing
I pay attention to everything

I am somebody’s son.
Isn’t that just
Unfortunate.
That I can bear the weight of,
The sins of,
The cries of,
A father,
A mother,
A sister,
A brother.
Someday, I’ll be something else.
Forgotten, perhaps.
Or remembered as a martyr.
How ironic;
Through my freedom,
My crisp clean kingdom,
I am trapped.