Everything I bottle up instead of confess
is crushing me until I'm a compressed
cracked shell of a man and a complete utter mess
Not going to let it sit and fill me with stress
everything that bothers me I must detest
or what is left of me will become less and less
until I become a pawn in a twisted game of chess
people say I shouldn't dwell on these things and I should digress
but if I don't vent i feel like I will lose the color in my iris
and never be able to get my rest
and I will lose everything like Miley Cyrus
or feel like I'm repeatedly being jabbed like a touch screen by a stylus
overall leaving myself asking one question: "Why this?"

Picking my pieces of the floor trying to get it together
let my sad little words composed of sad little letters
do everything they can to cheer themselves up and fell a little better
doing my best to convince myself that I really do matter
searching for the words of sanity in this unstable chatter
because the floor is ******* lava and I'm climbing a latter
to bring myself away from these thoughts and to an effective distractor.