I'm dying inside
lying inside
pretending I'm not just along for the ride.

I'm smiling outside
I'm faking my pride
walking around like there's nothing to hide.

And there's so much more to tell too.
I'm just not sure how to be honest with you.

My heart breaks
my body shakes
and when I try to tell you
my voice quakes.

My eyes can see that it's really just me
unable to let go and actually be free.

Trapped inside of this beautiful mind
trying to pretend I'm not one of a kind.

And I know the things I want from you
I just can't have them until I face what's true.

Until I'm actually ready to start over some day.

Which all sounds good until it's time to pay.

Then it's easy to go back.

It's easy to backtrack.

As if I weren't able to fight off my own attack.

A one man self destruction crew
same old story
just made to feel new.

Same guy
still trying to fly.
Still running in circles
still stuck in a lie.

Still a dreamer
still a believer
still holding on
still born to be a leader.

Yearning to be free.
Of the pain
of my brain
of everyday feeling the same.

Looking for escape
for a small break
searching for something
other than heartache.

Starving for attention
lost in contention
hoping and praying
for a sliver of redemption.

When will it all stop?

When will my life change?

And why does facing the truth always feel so strange?

But it's not all a lie.

I've given at least half a try.

And you know,
it kind of feels good inside when I cry.

To feel that release.

To let it all go.

But I always wonder,
is it all just for show?

Pretending to be,
anything but me.

Holding on to a vision
of what used to be.

Holding on
to what I want to see,

because without the pain,
then who would I be?

What then
would be my inspiration
if I was no longer drowning in desperation?

What would I blame if I freed myself from all of this frustration?

And how am I supposed to just pick up the pieces after all this devastation?

What would I write about
if I finally found a way to let go of all this self doubt?

What would I use as a muse if I was no longer perpetually confused?

And what if I fall again?

Am I finally willing to see this thing through to the end?  

How does a man continue to stand in the face of a self imposed backhand.

Trying so hard not to drown in a crowd of people who only know how to back down.

Trying to stand up with a weight on my neck that feels like a thousand pounds.

And what do any of these words even mean?

Should I keep them hidden, never to be seen?

After all, I wrote them for me

But maybe it's something you need to read?

Maybe my pain is intended to show, that deep down inside you already know.

That pretending to be perfect is never the way to go.

That broken is better.

That not fitting in is the new trend setter.

To show off the insides of my brain while proving to the world that I am actually still sane.

And then… just for fun…

I’d bet that you feel the same.

You will sleep fine without me,
while I lie here crying.

lost forever,
feet will not move,
for my mind travels far

Soft siréne, you are. Lost and sad most of the time — all of the time.
Floating here, around there. Almost aimlessly, almost with no direction.
How can you see past the sea foam, sea salt, and tears?
Rain never gets to you the way it gets to the rest; you’re protected by the very
being of rain. (You cry so much.)
You wish you knew what the weather was really like.
The shore is okay, the shore is safe. It’s where you can be with the crowned-sun-bearer.
Always asking questions, soft petite siréne. Never prepared for the waves that crash
with answers.
I know in your heart you wish to glide through growing grass, through rolling clouds,
through booming thunder.
But do you know how the birds see in the sky? Do you know how loud lions roar?
Don’t you want to feel the very ground they walk on?
Small siren, you cry so much. Petite siréne, you always reach for him. Petite siréne, he always has eyes for you. Petite siréne, he’s there for you. Petite siréne, he’s never leaving the shore.

What about me?
Did you forget to write for me? About me?

Where’s my ode? I scroll past you multiple times a day.

My crown keeps banging against this white plastered wall
with red staining and charcoal scuffing the crevices.

I don’t think. I do not know.

Let's leave it how it is.

With sorrow on my brow
And simpering, whimpering lips
I have a question in my weak voice
Breathing so brittle, like bird bones
I am the mockingbird with a broken wing
Crying out; dying to sing

In highlands abandoned
Where the missing people do not visit
Wasted places decorated jagged glass
Grey and brown plains without end
There was once a paradise in this world
However, time changes all but this girl

Looking back to this realm I hailed from
Eyes glazing over with nostalgia
My heart breaks regarding the bitter fondness
I just want to go back to my verdant haven
Because I remember the olden days
And all halcyon, lackadaisical haze

In the glittering past
So mysterious and unreal
The choices which have led to the present
And, consequently, the bitter and quivering
Question in my fragile voice
Where do the kindred spirits live?

Because I used to know
But they’ve moved on
These precious, flickering lights
For whom I call and call for
For whom I yearn for the return of

Often times I'm too much
But in a sense still not enough

I'd like to say I'm a work in progress
To cut myself a little slack

But in all honesty I'm a mess
And I guess that's why they call me a storm to be reckoned with
I tend to be more destructive than I am constructive

We both have this need for attention - to be loved
Being alone absolutely terrifies us
Yet we're content being alone together

He understands rules and knows how he should behave and so do I
However, we both falter at times - we can be a bit too much for some

I have sat and wondered endlessly about these things trying to figure out how we could be nearly the same
With the answer in front of me the entire time

Our pasts have shaped us
Both of us were left behind by the people we loved the most
We trusted them and they tossed us aside
The trauma of being thrown away and withered down made us who we are