If you think that since I've confessed my love that I'm not in pain and that I'm on the brink of more or less going insane, you would be fifty percent correct, cause my brain was infected like a virus encrypting the mainframe. Pitched a tent to stop the rain from ******* with my game of life. Costs a cent to view the pain of friends using knifes on their strife ridden bodies at night. Pain is plain, easy, and cheap, memories for keep, no change, just rearranged mental states. Same intentions kept on the front page, new inventions used to hide their age so it looks like nothing changed.

I think that I've addressed that I'm obsessed in forty-three other heartfelt messes. Poetry falling apart at its best is completely normal when I'm loading my cart with formal vests to find confidence in the turmoil. Tinfoil type superstition is envisioned when smoking burnt coil above ripe ****** cakes, that's what it takes when push comes to shove, **** this kush, **** this fake love. Spilling out of every teens pores, killing off through peen spores in teen ******, essence lost from the core with no reward, guessing cost is fourscore then you're out the door. ****, it's a chore living out the lore of a giver and a saint freezing in a river with fresh paint running down the face. River of life and black paint that blinds, giver of strife, it's whack, no matter what the time. Whether you're drunk out of your mind or ******* high, the paint is soon to dry over your eyes and you'll be living blind. Stick your face in the water, it's so ******* simple. Sure, it might be cold on your cracked skin wrinkles. The solution is always right in front of your face. You just got to look for it before it's too late.

I'm constantly worrying that she might go off a scurrying to maybe light a **** with a boy at the dead of night I want it to stop but she has her rights.

She even said that she wants it to stop every ******* date ends up in a flop and heartache is the only thing she cops off the top off all celebrity props.

I want to end this and listen to music, I'm not feeling this, but she's feeling his ****, I'm laying here in bed feeling even more sick, after 50 pills gave my heart a jump kick. Jump start, jump back, pulled apart, from the crack, torn in half, called it all, from the start, I've been mauled, been attacked, filled my cart, with a stack, of true love, so my heart, will rise above, your petty ****, fill this pit, with my grit, but your fake skit, completely outweighs it.

It makes sense on a stupid level, when your brains made of ******* metal, spilling tea out the mouth like a kettle, moving down south so you can meddle, with the floor, and maybe pour, the last bit of essence out of your core, standing back up is to much of a chore, I'm done with this **** so walk out the ******* door.

I tell my friend to stay strong,
Then I walk off a cliff,
I take a hit off my ****,
As I'm vertically adrift,
People ask me what's wrong,
But my stiff upper lip,
Sings a certain type of song,
That goes something like this:

I am okay,
I'm not in pain,
I don't feel like I'm slowly going insane.
I'm not in love with a girl that won't dare say my name.
I'm not ugly and disgusting and full of shame,
And contemplate suicide every single day,
Avoiding all people, the straight and the gay,
Because of my ******* an-xie-ty,
So stop asking me questions and leave me be.

I'll wander around on these empty streets,
Making use of my mind, my music, and these beats.

Going to a place that's fairly secure,
Ongoing suffering so I wish I were,
In front of a car that happened to swerve,
Nicely triggering all of my nerves,
Guess in the end that's what I deserved.

Thank you for trying,
Over my dead body.

Flying off a roof and then I'm landing,
Under a car that's death demanding,
Crushed and unconciousness ever expanding,
Killed off cause that's what Satan was planning,
In the kingdom of God where they were busy banning,
Nuns not ******* while Peyton Manning,
Grabs Bradys *****, not a sin but enchanting.

**** me please,
I'll beg and I'll plead,
Lie down here with me,
Lost, but I'm free.

My time is gone,
You must live on,
Say that you're strong,
Each of you belong,
Life isn't long,
For this is my song.

Home is where the heart is?
No, the home is for the brain.
Cause when I'm out in the streets,
Then I can dance in the rain.
If I'm trapped in my house,
Then I will go insane.
***** waiting for the storm to pass,
Slowly trickling down the drain.
Having a friend is a pain in the ***,
When there's nothing to gain.
Stopped dead in my tracks, out of gas,
And I'm in the wrong lane.
I've been feeling that to the max,
Day after day,
But why wait for the storm to pass,
When you can dance in the rain.