So, I grew up, built myself to be more than just walked all over,
Is that what made you all turn your backs and cowardly walk away?
Yeah, I ****** up, yet admitted it, that's more than any of you can say.
I finally stood up for myself and stopped taking ******* with a closed mouth,
after all I did hold something worth value, maybe not to any of you, but to those who truely matter.
If I were the puerile person, I'd harbor tons of grudges on you, like the ones you callowly place upon me.
No, I'm not claiming to be above it all or some kind of self righteous *****,
I've done enough **** to fill the septic, but all I'm saying is you have to own it.
We're all human, all the same, liars and cheaters, lovers and seekers,
we all have our own blame to take.
Yet, you'll get no where blaming flaw and fault on those trying to help.
Open the eyes you so blindingly use to perceive your own made up lies,
Maybe then you'll be able to see love conquering those who choose to hate only over their own self deprecation.

Growing up is realizing that most everyone never means what they say,
it's the proof that no one actually loves nor cares for you,
but the things you can provide them with and serve to them.
Growing up is seeing how complicated and mischievous the world really is in the reality we live,
it's noticing the pieces fitting together in a ****** off puzzle no one pays any mind to figure out,
wondering through streets and transparency of all whom fill them.
Growing up is publishing the truth and the mighty glory it with holds,
it's figuring out what no one really cares to perceive in honesty.
Growing up is having your heart broken by those who once promised to put it back together and never having them back as you thought it was before because, you see through it all, through than and the faults.

Pretend that you help me, oh yeah, you already do.
Slip on these clothes and drench yourself in your silly perfume,
cause there's nothing really left of you.
Smile towards others so it puts yourself at ease,
honestly, your only excuse is being lonely.
A pair of glasses is quite useless without both lens,
For that could be why you can't seem to see your tricks.
In your head you're always right,
that is why the sensibility has left,
which you've cramed with false sympathy.
You used to be so generous and your smile so bright,
who took it? who took your left eye?
you still seem to sleep at night after all you do,
i'm not sure what allows you to pursue.
Forget all the things you promised me before,
in fact, forget me completely, it's not like you can see me,
A memory, i'm nothing more.
I wish I could evince this behavior to you,
yet, you surely wouldn't care if it were shown through,
A sympathetic ambiance simply used for a disguise,
Who took it? Who took your left eye?

They sit until stirred through the air by stomping feet,
their beauty left behind in an abundance of forgotten fate,
dirtied by the bottoms of soles whom drift with paltry paths.
Have they any recognition for their once grandeur existance,
or the visually vibrant ambiance they had to relinquish?
They go disregarded by many whom hold the same discouraging weight,
their fractured features left by the taughting aura of the feet,
mistaken for nothing but miniscule fragments of the world.
People try to propogate some sort of prominent impact,
and end up forgetting that everyone leaves.

Riiing, Riiing, silence calls,
in your ear, time dissolves.
You can't hang up or
even wait for it to end.
It's inevitable not to answer.
Riiing, Riiing, silence beckons,
in your mind, it's only seconds.
It will drive you crazy
until you pick it up.
You aren't the only one today.
Riiing, Riiing, silence calls,
if you decide to ignore it,
that ringing in your ear starts to drive you insane.

I've learned a few things from you
And from the situation, a multitude.
I'm not to blame, for you can't just point fingers to relieve your shame.
You know, it's hurt in a way,
showed me how ungrateful I am to those who make me feel home.
I'd rather be learning, seeing lessons up close,
Than concealed and shushed to safety.
These experiences create me.
I never knew how long I could with stand pacing.
Do not run and hide, you'll always be with your own self,
It's pointless when your shadow is chasing.
I've witnessed your soul turn frail,
I've seen every part of you, every slick inch,
I've touched your every darkened scale.
Is it sickening to watch yourself wither?
You ought to satisfy the hunger,
that grumbling is being mistaken,
misheard for pity rather than what it's supposed to be,
forgiveness, in yourself,
which, in return, may set you free.

Every breath I managed to take,
felt worst than the pain losing you made.
****** concrete is the only portrait I can paint,
but I can't count the times I've ended up with your face on the page.
I'm sorry I can't remember things for ****,
then again, you didn't remember I loved you,
so, am I the one to blame for this?
maybe if I think too much, I won't think at all,
but honestly, I've thought so much I've made a stall,
yet broken through, and ****** my hand up on the drywall.
Haven't eaten in a mere six days,
but I've gotten use to knodding off and these delusions set to daze.
I ******* hate dropping my cigarettes,
and I love the rain, but I hate getting wet.
Don't ask me questions cause I don't ******* know.
Dig into me, settle under the surface.
Work your way in depth to me.
It's falling apart and I'm breaking down,
like ashes colliding into the ground.
Never thought complete silence could create such shuddering sound.
My mind's running circles but my stomach can't keep up with the round n round.
Rading cabinets and getting caught up in the sound of the bottle,
savoring what I reluctantly found.
A few for the memories, a few to pass the time and a few to wash em down.
My skin is crawling, stinging, itching to open up,
just for you to lore inside.
Crawl beneath, sink and hide.
Dig in deep, and dwell within.
Scratching, scratching,
yea, digging through skin.

your teeth on my neck made me only want more.
now, the worse sound youve made is a step out the door.
what else could you rip from me?
my knees are already on the floor.
i just miss the feeling of your teeth
and the love that had faith in its lasting.
this is just another nightmare passing, i can make it through.
though its so hard when my dreams were you too.

finally i feel what i've been in search of for years, serenity.
now, i don't feel so off balance, you grace me with stability.
finding a comfort in the chaos upon laying eyes on you.
grateful for your serendipitous appearance in a world that's given me nothing but omittance.
the light that i've been emitting has finally found purpose in your existence.

When did conversation become argumentation?
This form of abuse derived from self irritation,
just drives me in the opposing direction of where you'd like me to go,
there's many destinations that I haven't been shown,
cultivation leading me to venture on my own.
You push and shove for me to grow up already,
but agitation won't make it easier to speed through others lined up in front of me.
If you could just see how much I've been through,
most of it alone, if you could view just how far I've kept motivation,
then someday we might actually get close to were we've been heading this whole time.
Line after line and you have yet to add any up,
you haven't seen my determination, for you just blame it on luck.
Whim did consideration become mediation?
I've lived every waking moment, just for your approbation,
now, everything I've done is incorrect?
The treacherous miles I've overcome are now obliviation I'm your head,
every turn I make just ends up being another mistake.
Something along the lines of aggretion,
which in turn left us were we orginally started, or stopped.
You always try and take me where you want me though I've come so far already.
Sometimes the places you unexpectedly end up are where you're actually supposed to be.

You've been gone for so long
Or maybe it was I this time.
It's hard to say that I'm wrong,
when I've just wanted to be right.
As you light your cigarette,
does it taste like things used to?
It all change so suddenly,
but that's what it's supposed to do.
Orders meant to be followed, not taken.
Maybe all the words exchanged were just mistaken.
You can't say thank you if your mouth's already full.
Pretending you aren't broken doesn't fill the hole,
But creating false presentation does grow old.

An ashtray full of buts smoked away by conversations of the past.
I'll show you open wounds that can't be healed,
If you tell me secrets that, til then, they had last.
Hang up those shoes with holes of adventure,
on the subsiquencial line to nothingness.
It's not as if we'll spawn again,
you've already left me to forget,
but you can not pretend that none of this was worth anything,
that you wouldn't come back if it hadn't gone to ****.
You can't just blame me for the things that you did!
Untied laces,
Missing pieces,
empty bowls and missing lighters.
unforgotten memories eating at me,
the person i was taunting the person I've become.
I've always heard the weak pull down the strong.
these inevitably destructive visions,
unfinished cigarettes,
half empty bottles flat in the morning,
stolen clothing and broken glass.
I doubt whatever this seems to be,
the feeling that hits me from the past,
a confused, somehow nostalgic me.
Yet, everything is better now,
no one to be harmed by and no one to soak up disrespect from,
only a perfect protray of everything I lacked before,
and this.. this is what I've been in need of,
a reliability that I love and they may love me in return.

Mistakes, ones not of their own, that taunt them to this day.
Some sips down the throat and those visions grow bearable, blurry.
Times have changed them, times have changed me.
Rips in their only pants, holes in their hammy down shirts.
Broken soles on the shoes they've had for years,
substance in their systems for longer than that.
Terrors in their heads, worry keeping em up in their bed.
Feeling lonely and empty, empty handed and still giving.
Unsure if their life is even worth living.
Things are harder than they seem, can you blame them? Can you blame me?
A stooge off the side of the road, from the place they decided to roam.
A broken lighter in a pocket, in the other- what no one knows.
Their bruised skin rapidly wearing thin, their eyes caving in.
A life no one chooses but is shown,
one you only venture into when you end up alone.
Left with the invading thoughts,
doing things they've never forgot.
You can't relate until you see, you can't blame them, you can't blame me.

Once again, we're set to head off,
all of our belongings cramped and boxed up.
We're hoping this will finally be our place to settle down,
but we'll keep our stuff like this,
just in advance for the next town.
It won't be our home and I know this,
we'll just have to leave again and again,
never finding a place that we'll actually fit,
but I'll keep these thoughts boxed up,
in order not to get my thoughts down.
We'll keep our stuff boxed up,
in order to be ready for the next town.
It's just a continous cycle of moving around.

The home died,
from out to inside.
The life slowly drained,
souls slowly taken,
but the stories remain.
The home died,
became empty, cold.
Yet the memories stay,
buried in walls,
concealed by doors,
hidden under couches,
built by broken windows.
The home died,
along with the lives
whom used to thrive.

This is it, isn't it?
The moment we patch up our wings in preparation for flight.
We'll be getting somewhere soon and I know this, I feel it.
The day we will finally feel free with wind against our skin,
with room to breathe and our life to live.
Things are going to change, our future is finally going to happen.
This is it, isn't it?
That portion in life when we get to make our own decisions,
when we can get it all together and have the time for our revision.
We're making it happen, we're going to make it.
The day we can expand our lungs and exhale with ease,
where we can soar through skies and break through barriers.
This is it, This is it.
The moment in our life when we get to make it ours.

The roof is collapsing,
caving in on every promise,
breaking down to show what's real.
The walls are condensing,
concaving in unspoken words,
building up on what's been broken.
Structure built on false foundation,
only creates faulty condition.