Sometimes its the simplicity of my fathers ways that make me want to walk in his unchanging path for the rest of my days.
His engineer mind complicates my decisions
But my mothers healing hands touch everyone but me
However its my mothers rage and fire
That i sorely desire
Seeing my father think is like watching the inside of a clock,
Its gears switching and constantly turning.
My mothers fists of fury tell me i should be angry,
People lied and diseved.
My fathers ways are beautiful, however once i try to live then i realize that that is not me,
I should be myself.
All i want is to be free
He is stuck in a hallway that only goes straight.
My mother is in a feild of grass runninng away from everyone and everything.
I cant be stuck in my fathers wrath
I need my mothers outrageous anger to keep my going.
Simplicity is beauty.
But i need freedom.

I believe we have a choice in this world on how to live
We can ethier shut down and wait for life to slap us in the face and tell us to get up and start living
Or we can go, adventure to new places and tell new stories with new people.
We constantly sit in this little box we call home, but its not living.
Were just a breathing corpse.
We need something to tell us to be free, we feel like were trapped, with no where to go.
But let me tell you theres a life out there with things you cant even imagine.
Yeah, its a scary world sometimes.
But there are endless possibilities that at any moment can happen.
You just have to stand up, wipe the dust off your jeans and walk, even run out that door.
Its a brighter day and its waiting for you.
I promise as soon as we start getting up and leaving those prision walls we will find a joy in this life.
Because why waste your time sitting when the clock is ticking
And your running out of time.
Life is as simple as an hour glass,
Each grain of sand is a day you wasted.
And the sand doesnt stop falling.

When the stars collide,
And the only life we know of turns to dust,
I'll still be here,
Waiting for a second chance to start again.
Another hello,
And a second goodbye

I can feel the words coming out of my mouth grasping towards freedom, but my mouth is open letting the words free and no sound will come out.
Its as if i am so afraid, i cant even voice my opinion. I cant even tell you how i feel. I am so terrified of the reaction i would recieve that i cant even talk to you. I might throw up, my hands are trembling with anticipation.
Then it happens, the words spew out of my mouth dropping like bombs and all i hear is a ringing noise from an explosion.
I cant even stand to look at you, knowing that when i do, your eyes will touch mine for a split second and shame me for what i have done. That dissapointed look will tear me to shreads.
I want you to know that i am sorry. But what's done is done, and nothing can be undone, you cant change life even of you wanted. You cant snap your fingers or wave a magic wand and everything be gone in the blink of an eye. So we should learn to deal with our mistakes.
Because our mistakes make us who we are, even if we dont realize that today, we will someday. They dont define us as a person, but they make us who we are because we learn from them, we change.
Thats all life is, full of mistakes.
Live with it,
Because i will live with mine.

In every bottle
I swallow
Theres pain
Like a **** hurricane
In every cigarette
Theres regret
Every exhale
I feel pale
In every book i read
I feel like i should plead
On my knees
For the hurting to cease
In every look in the mirror
Theres terror
In every falling tear
Theres unimaginable fear
Im giving up
Because I've had enough.

They told me your never supposed to see your mother cry.
But what the forgot to mention is that seeing your mother cry isn't the end.

Its when you see your own mother telling her kids that she hates her life and wishes she'd just die.

Its when you see your own mother drinking that last drop of ***** as if its the only thing keeping her alive.

Its when you see your own mother taking all those pills shes subscribed because the doctors think it will fix her.

Its when you see your own mother talking to herself saying, "its time."

Its when you see your own mother laying on the floor passed out, with a still lit cigarette in the ash tray and beer cans spread around her.

Its when you see your own mother look at herself in the mirror and drop down to the floor telling herself that the person in the mirror isn't her.

Seeing your mother cry isn't the end, its seeing the aftermath of the tears, seeing all the pain in her hollow eyes eat her alive.