Can't I stay the ugly duckling?
Life is so much quieter in the shadows
I don't want to be admired anymore
Growing tired of things has grown tiring
And I don't want to be that kind of beautiful
Her shoes could fill with blood
And she'd still have somebody to please
How can you please people
By being against everything?
You lie to gain illumination
You starve yourself
In hopes of satiation
Can't I be the ugly duckling?
At least I'd get to eat

Face                     of MADNESS        , gather your twisted strength
Stench like sadness? (Do)n't                             confuse, its greatness
Sway through the fractures and disjointedness
      Disembodied                      manifestati­on, useless phenomenon
S(cul)p(ture)s hammered into DisFuRme/nt
Castrate salient pieces                     of that body
      Spew inhuman lexicon insinuating         i-n/co\here/nce
Slaughter the (harm)ony                   within cadence
Screech!         H     o      w      l!          Growl!
Rel(easing) murderous miseries within infected entr[ails]
      R A G E, count{less} bullets                              turning fl{ashes} of sanity to CAD(AVE)R(S)
De[generate] ripping throat of conscio(us)ness

No paints and not one canvas
Nothing sellable at all
But, an artist is an artist
With art to share with all

No profit in creations
No way to sell his works
But he creates pieces of magic
With lots of different quirks

His tools are nothing special
Pastels and pieces of old chalk
His canvasses are static
They're the place that people walk

He's a sidewalk chalk pastel artist
With only digital designs
His work goes with the weather
Cracked pavement creates lines

No matter where he travels
He can work when the muse strikes
But, he has to watch out for street walkers
And folks riding through on bikes

His pictures are amazing
Where real life ends you can not tell
But, because there is no canvas
He has nothing to sell

He creates from chalk and pastels
He is an artist just the same
As those with paint and easels
He just plays a different game

Donations are his lifesblood
An empty cup beside him lies
Stand back and be awed by
His artwork before it dies.

These chains across a battered soul
The fear that never becomes whole
The page I seem to always skip
The path I seem to always slip
The cry that always seems to bare
The pain that always resides there
The broken that no one understands
The survivors that dropped each others hands
The song that never meets its end
The perfect life that's always pretend
The love that doesn't exist
The ones you always seem to miss
The memories that seem so faded
The wounded hearts so filthy and jaded
The need to just be numb
The constant reminder that you're dumb
The words that cut deeper than knives
I bless your heart if you survive

There was once a girl,
And she was loved by all,
and she was beautiful,
and she was young. 

There was once a girl, 
And she was innocent, pure, 
and she was honest, 
and she laid bare all. 

There was once a girl, 
And she was beautiful,
and she was unaware, 
and she was filled,
plagued with insecurity. 

There was once a girl,
And she was pensive,
and she was overlooked,
and she was numb, 
she was broken,
yet she was still young. 

There was once a girl,
who lived a life of battle,
who drank for the pain,
who swallowed for the suffering,
who jumped for the isolation,
So that she wasn't a girl anymore.