Life is like lemons.
You can do so much with them
like flavor salads
and top cakes.
Some people don't like them
so they cut them open,
and drain them out into the garden
so their flowers will smell good,
then they throw them away.
But the people who use them for good,
those lemons will never be sour.

I don't know
what's going on
in this place
that I live in

People change their minds
quick and painlessly
and things I want to do
I never get to

People I miss
are moving on
and i am becoming
a grain in a sandstorm.

I am a needle
in a haystack
I am hard to find
you might get hurt if you look.

I have succumbed
to this world
but soon I will leave
and nobody will know.

There's a cross
cut into my hand.
lets me understand
exactly what my god demands.

Yes it hurts.
but take some needle and thread
and i can stitch out the red
on my hand and in my head.

It will be there forever
it's really deep
I feel it in my sleep
but this cross I must keep.

Sitting in my room
all alone
chilled to the bone
thoughts in my dome
wherever they roam
they always come home
to one inescapable truth
I am forever alone.

I've had enough of this
but my friends don't know
but they shouldn't though.
At school, im pure as snow
but the more I grow
I get tired of it all,
and the winds begin to blow.

My friends start to notice
but it doesnt matter.
I'm crazy as the Mad Hatter
I might end up like John
With my head on a platter
Or I might just go splatter
And In death, I will finally be victorious.

Here I sit
on the side of my bed
writing this poem
off the top of my head

This wasn't planned out
but my words are all  true.
My heart tells my hands tells my pen
what to do

Here I lie
staring at the clouds
while in our own country
bombs go off in crowds.

I thought I knew you
but now I can see
the good of the two wasn't you...
It was me.

Here I Am.
Confront Me If You Dare

Why are we here?
Are we like a fire,
Burning ourselves out?
Or are we a time bomb?
Ticking slowly..
down..
2..
1.
what happens next?
someday the universal clock
will grind to a stop
and the story of existence
will draw to an end.
Why are we here?
As you read this,
the clock is ticking
slowly backwards
who knows?
It may have already stopped.