I think I'm good at communicating
And getting my point across
But by the time I'm done drafting and analyzing
Sometimes the point can get lost
   in my head
And I forget why I wanted to talk

You don't seem to mind though
You listen anyway
To my rambling, rambling, rambling...
Like now

Clouds blowing through your smog induced brain,
Sipping on beer while you medicate your pain,
Everybody's gone but you haven't even noticed,
Easy come, easy go, to you its all the same.

A danger to yourself? I'm yet to ascertain,
Talking to a bench while people eye you with disdain,
You have a problem - I'm not telling you to abstain but,
Wake up pal, smell the air and see the sun again.

A simple life is something we all crave,
It gets easier dependant on how you behave,
But you're popping pills making yourself ill on a thoughtless roller coaster,
And lying to yourself saying you're going through a phase.

The world has passed you by in your comatosed state,
You watch, but don't feel for reasons you can't explain,
You want to live life but can't handle your own mind,
So you dumb it back down and fly home to space.

Have fun on your 'travels' while you cement your own fate,
Thanks for giving me this lesson to recommunicate,  
You can get dealt a **** hand that foils all your plans,
But essentially your whole life is custom made.

When I tell someone to
leave when I am the one who is hurt
and they leave without a fight

Deep inside
I am hurting a whole lot
Not showing the outside world
that my head
is spinning with a bunch of thoughts all at once
not being able to concentrate on the one thing I am afraid of

Distracted and making myself fear more than several things
at a time
dozens of scenarios pass through my head
with several ways to go through the scenarios
I always seem to get hurt or it concluding with me or someone else dying

Taking deep breaths focusing back to the world I am left to face my real-world problems

I’m testing my mental because I know once I’m caught up with someone or something I’ll lose it. It took time for me to be here, to speak out about my ****** up life. Took a lot of withdrawals and telling myself I’ll talk about it only for me to cower away. Oh but I love infatuation, it keeps me going. Like how I was infatuated by the way writing remedied wounds I couldn’t possibly fathom. Those pages were what I spilled my secrets to, I smeared my blood on every page to remind myself that everything beautiful has a consequence. But the pain had toned down and creativity found a new abode. Just like the word indecisive implies I still can’t make a decision on what to write about. I’d like to call it indecisive insanity cause I still can’t figure out what’s wrong with me. I had journals filled to the brim with criticism but by 16 I had confined in those four walls in my mind that said I’m not worthy enough . Writing became a short lived passion, I can feel the words ricochet off the walls in my mind. I start perspiring all of my rhymes. Sometimes you just hope and dream that they’ll see the light you’ve secretly placed into those poems  the endless stalking of dictionaries and finding out new strands of knowledge distracts me from myself. It dresses my bare mind I just hope that no man will come and undresses my mentality.