She has flawed carved into her arm, just above her wrist veins
wonders to herself, how she can escape her pain,
feels justified...in the sadness that she calls her own,
I told her, it isn't wise, to make this place your home...

Black and White photos, she's in her room head down,  
deep mind state, like an artist, she feels that within her image she has found,
A way to project that she is deep,
I smile faintly and whisper, whatever helps you sleep...  

Sadness is a ball and chain, and life is just a game, but when theres sunshine outside, its a pity to claim that all you see is rain,

I've never felt that it is deep, or particularly difficult, to cut oneself off, to cut oneself out, or...to cut oneself...

Much more difficult to wade into the sea of madness that is the collective human experience and proudly proclaim, I do this for me, I do this for you, I choose to labour towards happiness, because the sadness isn't true,

They say the truth is an ugly *****, and lies are her beautiful sister... she never looked so lovely as when she was crying, I swear it was so hard to resist her...

But the tears were the lie and now here is the ugly truth...life is full of love, if you cant connect, perhaps you should investigate why, and if the reason is that your sadness somehow gives you a feeling that you have a monopoly on the truth...well then... i say to you...

99% of what we go through is positive
1% is negative
and this is common to everyone, who has ever lived
you ask me what hidden condescension my eyes hide when I gaze at you,
its because all that i have said to you is true...
and you have chosen to focus on the 1%...
the reason why...is the only thing that isn't evident