i want to build a home
                          i want to frame every goodbye
that's ever left my lips
                         with a sigh, and hang them on walls
built from good intentions
                          i want to lay a foundation
that doesn't crumble beneath a heavy heart

It’s all internal now.
You’re in a room.
No door,
no windows—
just four tall,
white walls.
The walls shake uncontrollably,
as if the earth were coming to an end.
What’s happening?
"Walls,
stop shaking,"
you say.
"That’s enough."
You wonder if you’ve ever had any control over the walls at all;
they don’t seem to listen to you.
Shortly,
everything will come tumbling down,
and you can’t do anything about it.
You sit and wait.

Suddenly,
through the nonexistent cracks in the walls,
waves come crashing
over your head and
down to your feet.
If a spark were to touch the water right now,
the room would instantly turn to ashes—
or so it feels.
You close your eyes,
hoping for an escape.
Yet you still know where all the water is,
simply by following the un-ignorable surge
that is felt across your entire body with each ever-growing hit of a wave.

Where are you?
Why don’t the walls break already?
And why aren’t you dead yet?

You open your eyes again
as you jolt awake in the middle of the night.
Your heart is pounding and your hands are trembling.
The beginning of the waves—
you’ve felt them.

She wishes for simplicity
She wishes for an out
She wishes and she cries
But you'll never ever hear her shout

Cause she loves the way you hold her
So close and so dear
She pulls you in closer, it's just for your ears to hear

She says
"I'm falling quick and I'm falling fast
So don't ever try to pull me back
Let me go
Let me be
Cause I'm an anchor
And I'm falling into the sea"

Oh he lost his dreams,
lost his being,
his will to seem,
to think, to be,
to feel, to see,
he went down to the bottom of every nug,
little boy, little child,
heating up that,
green ****,
dank skunk filling,
rooms and missing the gaps in his,
little heart,
but coming so close,
getting so numb,
intoxicatingly close to,
an actual feeling approximating,
someone close, someone caring.

Don't go to class. Don't go to school.
Stay in your room smoking.
Invite a few friends,
occasionally, not too often,
must keep appearances,
Must keep appeasing,
As he becomes disheveled,
As he looks for Molly,
Alice and Squiggy,
Hugs his grinder,
like his late mother...
Little boy, little fool,
how young you must be,
not to see the truth.
oh but to be sure,
he was his own little *****.
Till his blood pressure rose,
And the heart attacks came quickly,
He couldn't stop, couldn't stop,
He must have died that day,
Oh, he must still be dreaming,
Still in the clouds,
In a kingdom far away from here,
a Kingdom of one,
solemnly,
named addiction and persecution,
of Self.

where one may take a heartache with a swallow, i take it with a hand grenade