I SPEAK FOR FIVE.
THEY DON'T ALWAYS ALIGN.

I speak, for four.
Talking, is a chore.

I speak for three,
They don't always agree,

i speak for two.
they dont have a clue.

i speak for one
it's not very fun

now i don't speak at all
i want my friends back

It's raining outside.
I'm fading away,
With nihilistic thoughts,
Empty emotions,
Into the darkness I go.

Maybe it's time to quit.
As long as I live,
I will have some hardship.
But why should I worry,
About the thoughts I keep.

"There is always a light"
In this dark abyss there is light,
But only for others to acquire.
So I can't really fight the dark,
It holds me really tight.

All these thoughts,
Drove me to something bigger.
Just sadness I feel,
Nothing else better.
I wanna shout 'help me', but...

It's raining outside.

If the world was nicer
I would've been happier.
    
     But I surely would've died sooner.

The world has never been nice
And it has never been kind

And I must thank it for that,
For being constant in my life.

When the war has begun and I stutter a cry,
I can’t even bring myself to voice the word “goodbye.”
I can’t fathom the thought that I’ll never see their immaculate face,
And finally lose at life’s last daring game.

I wave my hand in agony and pain,
Knowing deep inside there will finally be a day,
When I look into the beautiful eyes,
Of the one who turns the lowest of lows into the highest of highs.

I can’t help but recall the happiest days,
When the day would begin and love would so lightly rain.
The drops fall down like a shower of sun,
And reap what is sowed and only begun.

I stand there with shaking legs,
Denying the thought of never seeing them again.
I know they’re happy and enjoying God’s grace.
While I’m still living the pain of life and yearning to see God’s majestic face.

I hate those people,
who ponder every moment in their life.
Injuries don't hurt them when from the knife
People who struggle to break free from strife.

I hate those people,
who search for their own origin.
The meanings of loss, and of win.
People who stray from their kin.

What are we, but figures of skin?
What are we, but souls of sin?
What are we, what have we been?
What story is there behind a grin?

The stories of men are what I seek.
Behind each face, the messages speak.
Of people turned depressed and morally weak,
and of experiences which leave men bleak.

Through barking dogs
?Hooting owls, hissing snakes
?And twilight ghosts,?
The night gets to the day.

Mental illness is not a joke.

I know that to be 100%
You know that I have anxiety.

I know that you hid things from me.
You know that you most certainly had.

Depression is a chokehold.

I know that to be 100%
You know that too late.

I know that I love you.
You know that you do not.