I feel so sick and I'm alone.
Listening to the empty dial tone.
Starring out the window at a miserable dream.
I sit quietly because no one would hear me scream.
Watching the fury things scramble on the T.V.
Pumped full of depression, sitting in the world that killed me.
Pacing around wondering how I even managed to move.
I know below these wrists my blood still runs blue.
Sitting, standing, walking, anything to pass the time.
The way I think should be considered a crime.
I can't speak of what I really think and feel.
And the nightmares become all to real.
I look outside as I turn off the lights.
Letting the manic episodes give way to eerie voices and sights.
If I could let my mind rest than I would know.
When I come to lively and deadly fork in the road Ill know which way to go.