I'm called an artist when I draw someone else
I'm called selfish when I draw myself

A year before she died we walked around the melting snow
She had told me that she envied it
And I always thought that it was because of the beauty of it
Or how it sparkled in the sun
I only found out when I read the note
That she had left on her bed
That she hadn't wished for beauty
She wished to fade away

Thinking carefully comes with being paranoid
And rational thoughts are all you try to maintain
But rationality doesn't help when dealing with death
Because knowing something can disappear so fast seems impossible
So we block it out
And don't react
Even when we know the end is the realist thing in the world
We close our eyes and say goodbye
Thinking that they just went on a trip
And we will see them again soon

I think I might be ill
Because my head does loops trying to express itself
And the morbid fascinates me
Blood and guts were roses in a garden that was so beautiful
And pain was the same as happiness
A rare and joyous feeling
Yes, I am sick
But it is a disease that is slowly spreading
As more become desensitized to graphic imagery
And more of us wish to see something new
Something that makes us ponder

I have no mouth
Only fingers that write worthless words on screen
Or to draw boring pictures on walls
My finger tips are the only thing I need to live
I do not mind my lack of voice
Or how when I speak my words merge with the crowd
Because the words I type
Are infinite
So I will live on with no words in reality
And live on forever in a digital haven

Make me realize that I miss you
And that our love may actually be true
But I'm not the only one in yours eyes
As your family dies
And you **** the life out of any girl that comes your way
Just to hide your growing frustration