I hate the mask I wear Behind my paper lines, I hate the mask I wear And all my un-rhymed rhymes. I hate the fact that I'm some ghost Who bleeds black ink onto my white host! I hate the fact that I harbor my words To the ships out at sea that all go unheard! I hate the fact that I am a mess And all I have left are these words of distress!
I hate that I try to make my self depressed In order to write a poem that will truly impress! I hate that I have to sit here everyday Trying to write my problems away Only to find That behind the smeared lines That I still am battling with my old demons! That I still am battling with doubt! Oh I hardly take time to care about the seasons I just care about the problems I have going on now.
-And even at my best I'm just someone who can't write And all my poems are a mask for my bloodiest fights But tonight I hope someone turns on the lights And finds my dead corpse rotting off to the side, I hope that for once it will all be fine And my heart will stop beating before I start losing my mind-