A lackluster perspective of us pessimists, we create the monsters inside our brains, but we only wish to be awaken from our nightmares.
And the introverts hide behind the music to avoid the lies of others, they fear attachment because the rest of them already left,
nightmares.
We all want to wake up.

constant thinking, never stopping.
A Woman's Brain.
Thoughts and questions, staring into spacious milky-ways and into the abyss of black holes

scheming and thinking of a fantasy land that may never exist,
probably won't, but I'm a sinner that prays for an ounce of hope to bless the idea

But! I do not tend to believe in happy endings, because no matter how happy I try to be.
I never am, it never ends up how you want it to, even if you're desperate for that favorable latter.

a life has no meaning, even if we try and believe and strive to achieve, and prove that there is, it's all just a chemical, it's all artificial in our minds.
love is not real, fear is a trigger, happiness is a drug, pain is just a reaction and when we die that's it.
Nowhere to go, no one to see, nothing to attract us to lies and scams anymore that surrounded our once breathing beings that were choked out.
We sink down under the waves and the ship dies under the moonlit sky, the stars mocking our decent beneath and the world pretending to grieve after we lost our privilege to breath in suffocation...

Even if my dreams will never be real, I even if I'm beat down and kicked in the teeth, I've manged so far, I'll be okay. I invite the pain to wake me up from this fantasy, this pitiful and unlikely belief, this prayer that I secretly beg for all the time when I think of you.
A smile in my mind as the image of you fills my brain with things, but then I'm set free with a punch in the face and a foot on my back.

A nice reminder.
I only wish and crave your arms around me, and your smile and laughter to be heard and seen by me, and I want to hear the beat of your broken heart. It may leak out, but I want to care for you and keep you safe, but you do not.
Avoid it at all costs, because we're living for today, and I am not wanted for the next to come, as the swings are directed to me, braking me down with their fists and feet.

They're still hurting, but I'm trying to push this ignition down so the flame runs out, but who knows.
I'm waiting.

I wish for freedom from all the problems that come my way,
some still haunt me from my past to this day.
They keep coming back, the same thoughts again and again.
Same problem, different day, similar night.

I don't like it.
I'm from the West side of Australia, from the beautiful down under.
But pretty land doesn't mean everything projected is true, I am trapped in this country with these people

I only wish to escape from this West Side, to spread out across the world and no longer be contained in a cage with broken, ****** and battered wings, I wish to be here and there and never look back.
But I can't do that, no because they keep coming back, again and again, why can't you just stop!?

Let me go, let my wings heal and stretch, so that I can finally learn to fly high and maybe leave this West side of Australia

If you have ever been with a writer, you don't know the extent of there passion.
Unless, you stay by their side. Then it's even better because you will know, you will eventually know..maybe not straight away or after a couple years, but it will come into the light of your eyes soon enough.

It's tough to get rid of the past sometimes when you're a writer, because people stay with you through text. Your work, and once you read it again, there they are once more, back in your mind as you watch your memories play through.

One and then two, and then there may be more, or maybe just a special one that you can't stop writing about, or you keep remembering.

This isn't bad, it could be a good or bad reason as to why and what you're writing about, it's good to get everything out.

You feel refreshed if you vent out the anger through intricate words, or you feel euphoric after writing about your joy.
It makes you feel better.

I like to link ideas in my head, and I like a bit of rhyme from time to time. Yeah. You saw what I did there, I'm a genius.

I like going back sometimes, because I can see my works, even if your name is imprinted into them, that's okay, it makes it work.
The Idea, The Memory, The Poem itself.

It's nice to be with a writer because you are always somewhere in their writing, even if you don't see it, you're in there, trust me. I wouldn't mind being with a writer, even though I'm one myself, I guess I would just like to see what they truly think of me.

Cause you will always see yourself behind their hidden meanings.

The static settles, finally I see a channel that isn't a rainbow,
And the voices are clear as the day, no rain.
I have no stakes, as I watch this show,
trying to ignore this feeling, this little tow.

Even if I put my music in, nice and loud, just to try and drown it all away, it helps like medicine, but it will always come back eventually,
I'm not a cute little doe, but you are a mighty buck, strength resides in you, while weakness envelopes me and my fear,
I tremble internally

I'm not going to be with anyone, and no one is going to be with me, they all hate me, I know it, I feel it, especially from the buck now.
Antlers powerful and strong, ready to knock me down, stab me into the ground, let my blood pour and stain your hands.
Do It.

Please.

I am desperate not to feel these things anymore,
these emotions that have come to me, with steadily realisation that they are real, I've discovered the cancer inside me, from the cigarette butts that were your voice and laugh that consumed me, and your hugs of blanket warmth, the disease that has settled within me.

You've infected my brain, like drugs have done to addicts.

Where am I?
What am I doing?
Where am I going?
What will happen to me?

Maybe things would be easier, if I was born earlier, back in the 90's,
I mean sure the early 2000's weren't too bad, but things just got a bit complicated and no one can understand anymore.

It's not like there's a tour.

People here and people there, some more fortunate or favourable than others, I'm not in that bad of a situation, I'll admit.
But I do feel sad,
scared, distant, different.
I'm not too significant either, If I were to die, well.
I think that'd be alright.

I won't be missed too much, and eventually the memory of me will leave, and I'll be forgotten gracefully.
Sounds nice doesn't it?
Don't ya think?
No? Just me?

Though my times at the moment are in my own opinion are, tiring, and difficult and ****** confusing, it's like taking an eternal U turn honestly!
I like people, I do, and I also don't like people, that's definitely true.
I mean seriously, who likes everybody?
They're not all your type

Where was I going with this? I had a point! (getting to the second paragraph of an assignment)

I think I was leading up to something like this?
Basically, live how you need until you have freedom, live that the way you want, play all the time; not with others feelings mate!, enjoy the thrill, drive fast once in a while, and play your music loud.

Clap, clap, clap
Boom, boom, boom
Bang, bang, bang
Let the base take you away.
That's just life.

All I wish to say to you people,
oh so much problems that can be solved,
But no, you wish for them to inflict me with burns.

A Bare Flare.
Fire that stings, your words are poison, while my rage is hell.
You have no idea what I do, or what I feel, none at all.
I hate you, you seemed like you were interested, like you cared, like you were trying to get closer to me.

Like Hell You Were.

How many times have I wanted to hang from the ceiling?
How many times have I wanted to take those pills?
How many time have I wanted to throw myself off?
Do you know?

No.
Shut up.

You.
All you do is *****, and complain to me, asking what the ******* can do,
Well guess what, you can't do ****.
I never ******* asked you to do anything, because I know you can't do anything, *****, *****, *****!

"We're trying to help you"
Does yelling ever solve a problem?
"What are we supposed to do? What do you want us to do?"
When did I make a request?

Unsheathing your words and plunging them into my back, the flying poison tipped arrows, killing me slowly, I'm going to snap.
Shatter, and break and crack.
I hate it, and I hate you two, you ******* two.
**** pair those ones, just a ******* joke now days, least that's how I see it.
. . .
Shut the **** up and listen to me for Gods sake,
I hate myself, and I want to end everything, because you never help never at all and it's ridiculous, ******* stupid.
Now shut up while I'm speaking, I'm talking here
When did I ever ask you to do anything?
When the **** did this conversation suddenly turn into this *******?

Again.

You think you know me, your kid, your child, spawn, offspring.
You Don't.
Maybe you'll realize that when I'm gone.
Sorry I'm not good enough for you arseholes.

I wanna leave, so I plan to, hopefully far far away from you lot,
I don't want to see you, I don't want to be near you, the thought of you two is making me sick.
Let me ask once more - if you actually let me finish,
Do You Really Know Me?