deep in my mind it seems so dark
only a few venture there
existing is a delicate thing
some can hardly bare it
it is so hard to see
the air is heavy to breathe
to you, all is silent
really it is loud beneath
outside you cannot hear the connections
unknown to you are these endless sounds
blue skies are just a mutation
lies of your mind's creation
eyes report what you want to see
you get to decide
observe but leave the ***** work
ultimately, there is beauty in the weak
rage is often ugly and raw
maybe it is too late to care
internal gore is much easier to hide
not like a ****, these wounds
do you know why?