I dabble in dreams
Singing with the sirens
Masking my shrill screams
I'm searching for guidance
These eyes are empty
I'm living outside of me
My demons tempt me
Form a different reality
I spend days in a cloud of smoke
With my nose buried in my collar
The more I try the more I know I'm broke
Living lackluster life in squalor
I'm panhandling on the corner of the street
With only pieces of my broken heart in my paper cup
Yet I find it so hard to admit defeat
I'm down not out I'll pick myself back up
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 5:19 PM UTC
I dabble in dreams
Singing with the sirens
Masking my shrill screams
I'm searching for guidance
These eyes are empty
I'm living outside of me
My demons tempt me
Form a different reality
I spend days in a cloud of smoke
With my nose buried in my collar
The more I try the more I know I'm broke
Living lackluster life in squalor
I'm panhandling on the corner of the street
With only pieces of my broken heart in my paper cup
Yet I find it so hard to admit defeat
I'm down not out I'll pick myself back up
This seems somehow hopeful, though it doesn't feel as smooth or in depth as I'd like it to.
