Blowing gas,
the smoke of hell rests itself inside of my lungs
There's ash in my eyes, slowly turning into dust
my body is made of rust, from the metal making up my cold heart
As the saltiness I have for love, comes from chasing after someone,
and being so worked up by the sweat on my brow
By the touch of such a touchy subject; I still feel nothing,
but just this feeling of feeling so numb
My voice goes as deep as the pools of swimming thoughts,
and I'm not feeling shy to drink a bit of chlorine
I see everything so clear, clear as the substance in my bottle,
as with a free spirit, I'm not too shy to shoot a shot
And let me mix the odds with a bit Oz,
in my adventurous tendencies, clicking my glasses
to feel like there's no better place like home
But I'm at home, drinking alone, and writing out forgettable poems

      ..Penning out random thoughts,
           my metal health is only a mental note