Self-destruction rules the narrow mind,
And I'm tired.
Tired of nothing.
Tired of everything.
Just tired.

I'm tired of needing clarification,
When it's never in real need.
I'm tired of comparisons,
When what do they really achieve?

The ups and downs make me tired,
I just want it all to stop, slow down.
The mind never stops it's process,
No time to wind down.

Destruction is a useless talent
I seem to possess
That's another word to describe everything I own...
Useless.

Useless thoughts in my once full head.
The emptiness was comforting
But now it's just sad.
Too much exposure seems to be
The real problem for me.

Too much exposure of something great,
That I'll never really deserve.
Or maybe I would
If I didn't gun it down every time.

You see, I possess two guns
And it seems I've only used one.
And my finger's trapped on that trigger,
Once again.

Gun one seems to be my favourite of the two,
I'm constantly reloading.
It splatters my relationships all over the once pure white wall,
Now all I can see is red.

I'm ready to use it again,
Against my rational head.
But P likes to control,
Which gun will be fired next.

I haven't seen P in a while,
Hey how you doing where have you been?
Are you here to bring me back down
To the ground where I should've been?

The gun will be shot in 3...2...1...
And I'm trying to be in front of that fatal piece of silver metal,
But it's impossible to stop something
You created yourself.