My life is a pit
Of pity
And self loathing
So much so
I constantly fall
For wolves
In sheep's clothing
My mind is mirror
Cracked upon it's surface
Living in constant fear or
Numb
More or less
My heart is sand
Ground into dust
Feeling so bland
With no one I can trust
Or at least that's how it seems

My will is vibranium
Strong and indestructible
Absorbent
And so invulnerable
I rise
Ready
To meet my fate
As once again I gaze
Into the face
Of heartbreak

Look at me
I’m a ******* mess
Sitting here alone
So ******* depressed
In the dark
There’s no point in fighting so hard
I’m just giving up
I should quit band
It makes me feel like this
My body
My mind
Everything
“What’s wrong” they say.
How do I respond.
I can’t assure them
I can’t make them feel better
I only know
I am losing sleep
As I lie here in this heap
My clothes scattered around me
My mind is lost and no one has yet found me
I cannot think
I do not breathe
I’m in my head
Battling the past, the dead.
I haven’t the strength to climb up into my bed.
So I just lie here instead.

Do you hear it?
It's the smell of colors,
The sight of sound,
The taste of light,
The warmth of the voices.

I follow them
They take me to my future
and make me forget my past.
They
Make
Me
Forget
My
Past.

Some might call me insane,
For following my heart,
But I swear that I hear them,
(Especially when I'm alone).

One day I listened,
and followed my soul.
What would it let me do tonight?
What does the future hold for me?
Where will I be when the skies are bright?
What mental state counts as "alright"?

The smell of colors,
The sight of sound,
The taste of light,
The warmth of voices.
Don't tell me your deaf and blind,
to what's obviously there,
maybe you too can adhere to these,
if you might dare to care.

Fear.
We all feel it, but we all don't want to.

Do you think Satan has fears?
Does God?
What is there that can scare God?
And if there proves to be something that fears God,
what's the chance that I too don't fear it?

Some say they don't have any fears,
that any sense of terror doesn't harm them.
I laugh at these people.
The only time they can't feel fear is that one time,
that one special time,
they're laying,
cold,
dead,
alone,
six feet in the ground.
A simple figment of history.
Their lack of worries won't matter.
It won't.
It doesn't even matter now.

We all fear death;
Some more than others.

I needed you
so horribly badly that my soul began unstitching fragments of the reality we had, looking for you.
So madly, my ribcage was barely able to keep my lungs from breaking out, in search of your breath.
Will you forgive me when I choose the most utter simplicity in order to stay alive?
I swear I will return,
but in the meantime,
bear in mind that a drunken heart is way too heavy for a butterfly to carry.