The tune filled all of their ears
But was not present in the air.
I called to my fair lady,
But she screamed it was not fair.

It clearly wasn’t your day,
You live in tomorrow because you have no today.
You live their nightmares:
“he lives the dream”
They say.

4, 6, 8, 10
Here we go again and again.
Break your neck dancing on your head,
Because your legs have fallen dead.

Butterflies in your stomach,
And you shot them all down.
Now it feels too heavy,
What are you doing? Get off the ground.

Angels are falling,
Machine guns in hand.
“It’s not right!” you cry.
They can shoot, but not stand.

Caught in the crossfire,
You are lulled to sleep.
You’re twisted,
Your lives have been listed.
Which one do you want to keep?

'Love is a drug'
it's a bit cliche at this point but its true
not in the sense of addiction or how harmful it can be
but in the sense of its effects
love changes people and it changes each one of us differently
for some, they become suave people with immense charms
for others, they become bumbling awkward masses that are plagued with a mentality and drive that makes them try too hard
it can slow you down
make you hyper aware
fill up every bit of you
from your toes to your hair
Love is a drug
it can make you do or think or say things you never thought you could
it's an oxymoron that turns you into everything you never were
it's every color and sound and feeling; it's everything at once
it's pure, it's evil, it hollows you out as it fills you up and gives the deepest sense of pleasure as it kills you and eats you from the inside out
Love is a beautiful thing, some might say life's greatest creation
maybe this is true, maybe it isn't but be careful
because its beauty makes so shockingly easy to overdose on when you're in it

Contradictions that we agree upon,
Morbidly humurous situations,
Fictitious reality's dreams of truths,
And how we hate the things we truly love,
It's all so fake yet it also exists!

Inconsistency became consistent,
Change has always been unchanging, constant.
Reality has become vaguely clear,
Bravery has brought about many fears,
We wail with a smile as we cry our tears.

Living in a state of peaceful conflict,
Accepting that we're all clearly confused,
Dying as if we're living and breathing,
We open our eyes, sleeping and dreaming.

something to fill this empty room,
besides the scatters of something started;
a work in progress, never finished.
something besides the
dull smells of fake fragrances and a thousand candles,
spent and past in brazen attempts at aromatherapy.
something to accompany the
ceiling stared at, night after night,
besides the spider and moth that live near the light.
another human, perhaps,
if there were room, at least. another set of thoughts,
besides ones own, weighing heavy in the walls.
a monster under this bed,
give us something real to fear, make me leave,
make me feel, make me scream.
something to fill this empty room,
besides everything still in it. not empty at all,
just worn and torn, bored, full,
empty.

"Compassionate Conservatism"
and
"friendly fire":
Euphemistic oxymorons
capable of
destroying hospitals.