Jul 2019
How do you feel being trapped inside that beautiful mind of yours?
Your eyes like to wander, your hands like to write, about a fantasy world.
This world is not real, yet you claim it to be
a vision of your reality.
A barren void, a terrible hole,
a cavity inside your soul.
Why don't you tell someone of
your feelings called hate, opposite of love?
The time we have is limited, your mind quickly grows older.
So why don't you take a long rest on someone else's shoulder?
How can anyone know the pain that you feel?
No one can help you; you're behind the wheel.
You daydream in this world waiting just for you.
Why won't you except their offers? Why? They know what you've been through.
I promise things will be alright as you scream and try to write.
Please, I beg of you, tell anyone of your hate.
But by the time you finally speak, it will be too late.
You disregard all your worth and things others value.
You simply ignore me when I say, "I need you and love you."
Why don't you tell someone of
your feelings called hate, opposite of love?
The time we have is limited, your mind quickly grows older.
So why don't you take a long rest on someone else's shoulder?
I'm here for you; that gut feeling is me.
I'm just your conscience, which I'll always be.
But when you think so hard you shrink, try not to hurt yourself in any way.
This is where the devil hides, planting the smallest seeds inside
your mind, as it slips into confusion,
a deeply sorrowful state called depression.
You think you're delusional,
but that fades and leads to a confession.
Yet sadly, now, things have gotten worse.
All of it feels as if somehow you're cursed.
You want to run away from it all,
but you simply can't resist the devil's call.
You plan your escape from reality,
and plan your trip across the infinite sea.
Your fantasy world is where you'll go, ignoring what others say and believe.
Hear me and my reason! Stop listening to him! Do not be deceived!
It's as though you're deaf to my words; taking a deep breath in, you sigh.
Hiding, listening to the devil, I yell for you to stop, but you pull the trigger and. . . . . .
Your eyes like to wander, your hands like to write, about a fantasy world.
This world is not real, yet you claim it to be
a vision of your reality.
A barren void, a terrible hole,
a cavity inside your soul.
Why don't you tell someone of
your feelings called hate, opposite of love?
The time we have is limited, your mind quickly grows older.
So why don't you take a long rest on someone else's shoulder?
How can anyone know the pain that you feel?
No one can help you; you're behind the wheel.
You daydream in this world waiting just for you.
Why won't you except their offers? Why? They know what you've been through.
I promise things will be alright as you scream and try to write.
Please, I beg of you, tell anyone of your hate.
But by the time you finally speak, it will be too late.
You disregard all your worth and things others value.
You simply ignore me when I say, "I need you and love you."
Why don't you tell someone of
your feelings called hate, opposite of love?
The time we have is limited, your mind quickly grows older.
So why don't you take a long rest on someone else's shoulder?
I'm here for you; that gut feeling is me.
I'm just your conscience, which I'll always be.
But when you think so hard you shrink, try not to hurt yourself in any way.
This is where the devil hides, planting the smallest seeds inside
your mind, as it slips into confusion,
a deeply sorrowful state called depression.
You think you're delusional,
but that fades and leads to a confession.
Yet sadly, now, things have gotten worse.
All of it feels as if somehow you're cursed.
You want to run away from it all,
but you simply can't resist the devil's call.
You plan your escape from reality,
and plan your trip across the infinite sea.
Your fantasy world is where you'll go, ignoring what others say and believe.
Hear me and my reason! Stop listening to him! Do not be deceived!
It's as though you're deaf to my words; taking a deep breath in, you sigh.
Hiding, listening to the devil, I yell for you to stop, but you pull the trigger and. . . . . .
I think this one was supposed to be a song. Can you hear your conscience speaking?
