I've been writing as an adolescent, as a teen filled
with adult lessons. Somewhat a mix of all my confessions,
and a touch of  my deepest depressions.
I use them all as a weapon, to **** away all thoughts
of suicide. My escape is in the words I write. The pictures I
try to describe, in all the lows between my little highs.

I question a lot about life—like why the talented famous
supposedly have to die so early. To have never aged poorly;
they only respect you now out of paying respect for your death.
To pretend they were your biggest fan, or closest friend.

Why publications ask me for fees they know I can never afford,
to invest in your royalties, and never gave a chance to your
dreams worth. I've battling all my addictions, trying to fill
myself with empty pieces. Seeing girls for only kisses,
considering getting paid for being involved with a mistress.
Just to afford to start up my business, to help those in their poverty.
But obviously that's not a possibility, but it doesn't stop me from wondering.

I've had my fill of gluttony, in pleasing my flesh.
In the thresh of cutting away my chances of being blessed.
Pretty am a mess—while putting on my face of the best, and
keeping a little pride on my chest. I still don't know how to dance,
but I pretty much prance in my room before I write a poem.
Switch between writing a little more or riding my way into
watching a little ****.

I don't trust my morals, if they're not on a placement of their
foundations. Ethics are kind of shaky, if you spirit is out of
concentration. I'm seeking for good relations, but hate to be basic.
Or basically falling over a girl who's just hungry for money chasing.
And it's so frustrating, when the right one you rightly push off.  
And now it's just awkward for you both. I'm not to good with my
feelings around pretty girls.

But that's me I guess,
writing late hours when I should be in bed.
Acting as I if don't really care—so oftentimes rare.
A habit rabbit, that my eyes are a black hare. Self destructive,  
self distracting kind of traits. I'm in dire straits, Lord please
save me from psychotic ways.

I hope this isn't where I die today. After having the usual
psychotic break.