I have a sad soul
I'm on a sad path
my mind eats itself
surroundings around me have nothing to say.

I am not cheered by good fun
and there's no fun in good cheer
my eyes are grey.

Feeling may be well enough deep
but my voice is monotone
there's not a charming bone in my body
I might as well sit on some old stump
and rot there with it

The upward contours that my mouth form into when socially acceptable feel as phony as I just described them
And I pray that I would be convinced
that a good night out
is a good thing

I'm not claiming that God makes mistakes
but life's maimed me
and left nothing but dry bones
and sometimes I think God does make mistakes.

I'll just shuffle along
with my dry bones and sad soul
until my next mental breakdown
until I am insignificant enough
to finally disappear

To write praises to God
that emerge from within me
is the ideal not being presently accomplished

Forgive me if my words are forced and shallow,
but help.

Let's be blunt.
Of all the singular words I could use to describe me, myself, and irony,
nothing could work as well as a broad definition.
For "clingy" is simply to cling to and not release,
and to attach (or rather, too attached) is about the same.
To need is to die without.
And those words could never describe me, myself, and I in entirety.
We attach much to words.
Flaws have their ups and downs.

I am clingy, attached, needy.
But in between each character of each inadequate word,
is a universe of definition,
screaming of the swelling in my heart,
the tears I have shed for you,
And the love in which the curves of the letters have come to exist.

Flaws have their ups and down. I love you deeper with them.
Also, I get hurt more.

I am beginning to see your true colors,
they are starting to shine through your eyes.
They're thousands of hues,
of especially blue
Your colors are much different than mine.

Camouflage on our souls doesn't suit us.
Take off all of the warpaint and find;
that despite our true colors
contrasting each other,
He who painted your soul painted mine.