My thoughts are sporadic
scrambled messy things
Mischievous and sick
flapping broken wings

Darting to and fro
scurry for the dark
hiding in my shadow
before I can remark
to try and save her,
him, them, they, or me,
all are hurt when they occur,
my thoughts that is, you see

They jump to fast to see
from topic start to end
searching for the sad me
the me that's not your friend,
and when they tell me what to do
and when they tell me what to think
I'm terrified not even you,
could save me from the brink

Yeah, my thoughts do really stink
and it's hard to clip their wings,
But then sometimes when I think
something beautiful they'll bring