I sit exhausted every night
Not a single off day in my sights
Working as I wake up, and until I dose off
So busy, my dehydration is discovered by a dry cough

To busy to eat, yet too hungry to carry on
Taking even a little break causes progress to be gone
Disappeared are the days of weekends being a reprieve
As I wipe the tears and carry on by rolling up my sleeves

Some call it growing up, others call it existing
Here I am throwing up, unware of how exhausting
this all truly is
The human body was made for pressure, yet I cannot reassure
If I am tired out of hard work, or hardly getting things to work

The weapons must have succeeded, the attacks seem to have landed
Stuck in this workflow I feel stranded, and yet life has still demanded
I wake up and smile, and sleep with the same expression
Is this depression, a lesson, or a trial for heaven?

Sitting down is wasting time, and working with no success is just as worse
Is this a challenge set before me, or some invisible curse
Time and time again, clocking in and clocking out
I sit still, letting it boil, as all I want to do is shout

Blood is the only story I can tell.
For a fragile and damaged brain gives no cure,
and either chooses chaos or new birth.
My soul was the only currency I could sell.

Now I am empty and unleash the monster within.

So, deeply, I fell in love with slashes of red.
I gave no mind to life or death and thus
laid my wrath to carnage, sinning again and again.
And by my mirth, released the hungry wolves.

I was exulted at the sight of them.

After, I traveled to the brink of Hell’s chasm.
Staring into the pit black as obsidian, I jumped.
Torment and misery had been my only companions
and in the face of great heretics, I was welcomed home.

I was born from sin and so stained from the beginning.

A funeral is my mind.
Where former lovers
and silver-tongued liars
attend their wake.

I spare no life when I can take.

An invitation from God
is what you’d need to depart.
But there is no God to be found here,
only your grievances and faults.

Stand steadfast and ready,
my reviled lovers and liars.
You’re in my dark abyss now
and you’ve taken your final bow.

Your procession has arrived.

We all broke our rules for someone unkind,
Lust and pretty words can make you blind.

Sometimes echoes of past mistakes will slip beyond the dark line,
Do not cling to old memories while making new ones this time.

Begin to trust that your instincts will guide you true,
Decide to choose yourself instead of letting others choose you.

In the beginning…
I remember that once I was a calm sea
I had always let others dictate how my life should be
But thanks to you, I’ve awakened to the harsh realities
That the only person who has my best interests at heart is me

You may run your mouth, spew your hatred behind my back
Your trivial nonsense will get no rise out of me
For I am now a wrathful storm hell bent on revenge
So I bring with me the power of lightning and thunder
And with the promise of never returning
I pull you under

Now that you see who I really am
Should you test my limits once again
That will be the last time you ever see the sun
Because I am the rage you created…
And I am done.

I am the pretty thing that lives under your house.
You left me there to rot, to be forgotten
like a flower that's never been watered and withers.
So how ironic must it be
to see a single rose bloom from my grave?

I am the pretty thing that stands next to your bed,
watching your chest rise and fall.
I bend down to whisper in your ear
and though you may have taken my voice,
the air coils and delivers my message.
Standing, I withdraw to the shadows.

I am the pretty thing whose face suddenly appears
in the dark space of your twisted mind
where you thought you buried me for good.
Gasping for breath, you wake up drenched in sweat.
You wonder if you're being irrational or going crazy.

I am the pretty thing that came back.
How lovely it is to make you insane!
You look beautiful in that straight jacket,
surrounded by alabaster walls with no windows.
It's only when you’re finally captured that you drop all pretense,
professing that it’s my blood that is forever stained on your hands.

I am now the pretty thing with a dagger in my smile.

i no longer wish to be exceptional. be boring. be ordinary. do not stand out. be real. be authentic. cleanse your mind and body and start over. it’s never too late to start over.

i only wish to exist, that’s all. it takes a lot of strength to exist when sorrow, disruption, and misery follow you around, swirling like a black fog that constantly engulfs you. it takes so much willpower to see through the fog that when i stumble out or gasp for breath, i realize that ordinary IS exceptional. to survive the absolute hatred of being forced to live, i only wish to exist, that’s all.