My soul now needs a resting space, 

To escape from my internal storm. 

Your heart seems like the perfect place: 

Tender, soft, innocent and warm.

But I could never expect you to let me in,

For my soul is definitely not pure.

I have struggled completely between vice and sin,

Trapped in the viciousness of life’s allure.

But I see that you are different, the look is in your eyes.

Your scent is innocent, natural, and sweet.

Your calming presence is a break from the cracking of my skies.

A feeling of hope comes every time we meet.

Your existence alone inspired me to write this. 

Imagine what I could if we shared eternal bliss.

Everything before you is the result of your peers.
You refused to speak up about your valid fears.
So now, as the end of your existence nears.
Your cries for help fall upon unconcerned ears.

Structure, format, foundation, everything breaks down.
It affects the way you think, feel, act, and believe.
You become what you hate, you embrace the vile sickness that overcomes you.
Nothing is spared, your psyche becomes a shattered mass of lost promise and broken dreams.

What is left is what they think is right.
Up is down, front is back, and day is night.
Blinded by the world, afraid of the light.
Your hopes and dreams are no longer in sight.

Panic, dementia, insanity, corruption.
These ideas are now what you embrace.
Corroded are the traits you once pride yourself on.
Go be one of them now, you have sealed your fate.

Your cries for help fall like tears,
To the unforgiving masses.
You spill your guts and your fears,
While they sit on their fat *****.

The crowd feeds on your futile pleas.
The emotion keeps them alive.
The stench you emit; they cling to like fleas.
Your failure is the reason they survive.

So keep them happy, play your part,
And watch them as they dance.
They revel in the pain in your heart,
Then turn without another glance.

The sickening part of all of this,
Is that you call them your friends.
Your pain is all they would surely miss.
So appease them to the very end.

I'm just a name you will forget,
A memory that will fade,
A one night stand that you regret,
Something inorganically made

But I'm much more than that,
Something you will never see.
Behind the glasses and the hat,
Is someone I struggle to be.

Nervous, frayed, and shaken,
I struggle to find my own way.
But through the road I've taken,
I find the words to say.

A name remembered now,
I feel a part of something great.
All I simply say is wow,
And smile since it's not too late.

Have you ever felt lost, alone, and wanted to cry?
Unable to cope because your soul wants to die?
You try to escape from it all by simply getting high.
Instead of actually trying to contemplate why.

Unable to escape the demons of your past.
You continue to act in the role that they cast.
Inside you want to run, but they are much too fast.
So you force yourself to see how long you can last.

Your eyes lost their shine, the white fades to grey.
Your fears of it all have bound you to stay.
So shiver cold and alone in your bed where you lay.
And struggle to find the right words to say.

Enough of your games, you always win.
Enough of your pain, derived from sin.
Inside you are already dead to me.
Good thing I haven't started acting out.

Did I break the structure of what I said?
You ruined the foundation that holds up my head.
So I won't give you an ounce of remorse.
Instead you're just a marker along my course.

You wanted it all, I gave all I could.
You wanted my love, I said that I would.
But now you've tarnished all that I had.
So don't play dumb at the fact that I'm mad.

I'm starting over now, so I need to move on.
By this time tomorrow, you know I'll be gone.
On to the next one, who will say more the same.
Because everyone knows that love's just a game.

My mind is an asylum,
Committed for insanity.
So I sit in my confined cell,
And watch the world’s vanity.
Consumer greed, ignorant leads
Follow along the woven path.
Something doesn't add up,
Maybe it was my math.
Materials are worth more than man.
Man only cares for power.
The woven path to oblivion
The end is the final hour.
So I sit inside my cell
Knowing I have nothing to gain.
And then I begin to laugh
And say “Maybe I’m the one who’s sane…”