The heart is that of a budding rose
The more attention it gets, the more it grows.
Every good memory like a pedal
Beautiful and untouched until they settle
Our senses like roots that lead to our core
Providing us with nourishment, rich or poor
Emotional stability like that of soil
If the foundations bad it will eventually spoil

The beast has come, it's that time of season
It robs me of my hopes and reason
It leaves me only guilt and sorrow
Forever dreading my day tomorrow
The pain is immense and comes and goes
For how long...no body knows
But hopefully soon this will all end
It's getting harder to play pretend

There was a time I believed in angles
I thought everything was true
I thought I had all the answers
With every line delivered on queue.

The stage seemed always set for me,
And all my props and lines did too
Eventually I came to see
The lime lights vastly dimming hue.

Torn from my starring role,
My only golden years
I lose a sense of innocence
Due to bigger fears.

My little stage
Is now a memory,
Merely written on a page
The fact that every actor must face this
Seems completely deranged.

She'll be digging her toes in the California sands
Only Being catered to by the loveliest of hands.
Her heavenly vocals will take her to the top of the charts
Mangling and delighting a billion hearts
She'll be the next Beyonce or Lana Del Ray
But probably something better, many would say.
She'll get everything she wants, all and more
I just hope she remembers me when I see her on tour

Tonight I morned the death of a friend
I've burned all the letters I could never send.
I buried her memories in a jet black box
And carefully tighned the new found locks.
I washed off the filth and got ready for bed
Knowing no more thoughts of her would dance through my head
I pulled up the sheets and turned out the lights
I've never slept better than I have tonight

The ***** act for us, Can never be justified.
We live in castles made of diamonds, and drive cars made of gold, we feast, were never famished, and we never grow old, but we still exaggerate, and complicate a tack in our shoes, the day of the week, and the things we choose.
It is the ones who live in shadows, that have the right to this act, for when you truly have nothing you may then choose a world of black.
When you finally live a day without light, you will truly deserve the right, to have your big kiss goodnight.

You are the queen of the mascuarde
Your poorly stitched mask so crudely made
Your one pure face, now stretched and torn
To fit the stitches so clearly worn
The comforting aura you once conveyed
Was merly a facade of your lavish parade
All you showed me was never real
You are simply way to pretend to feel