Trying to keep up with the chemical imbalance,
He brushed it off and worried more with gathered synthetic talents.
Synthetics curtain the authentic certainties,
but certainly add to the offensive burden.

Cold sweats will soak the beds where he won't sleep, just toss and turn in.
He dreads the voices in his head that keep reminding of the burning.
The phrasing suits it well, because desire is a fire and you will lose if you're to battle it.
It's the leader of an army that storm your psyche as the catalyst.

He cluttered all the cabinets,
left craters in the walls,
in search of just one more substance to get away from it all.
This only left him stranded,
Scarred from what this caused,
And they wonder how he got there,
Where stuttered screams from cellar's call.

Fingertips shake as his ego's enraged,
Fingerprints left on syringes for days,
A ****** mess has been made as he's invaded his veins,
A need to escape, I guess it's all been in vain.

The family throw's a fit, yes they're all in a rage,
Or so you'd think but they've forgotten, yes they're all in a daze.
He's stayed in there for minutes, hours, days.
Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months that met with years.
He's slain, beaten, weak, and his eyes befriended tears.

His heart skips and clatters against his rib-cage.
But its his soul that is shaken, shattered.
Where it started he was fragile, in a sense. If you remember, he wasn't aged.
Although his perspective proved too agile, he still holds innocence.
Hurts to remember, **"It's just a phase."