Sometimes I talk to this mirror,
That man never talks back
So I turn my back on him so he knows
How it feels to be alone.
But if I'm only reflecting on my own reflection
Maybe I'm stuck having his connection.
Collecting my thoughts without judgement,
Packing up my subconscious like luggage,
Letting it disappear into that sunset.

I've been hunting for good mental health,
Tracking the prints before the snow did melt,
When spotted, I speared it and skinned it.
Now look at this beautiful pelt.
Hands drifting across it's skin
I developed a deep understanding
Of why killing mockingbirds is a sin.

They say we dream of a perfect soul,
I think we just dream of feeling whole.

a hole
void of light

dwelling in hellish mental wells
with no fight, flight or rational
weeeeelllllll,
.....
oh well....

man,
acclimated to dirt ceilings/sealings,
and
unless stars are aligned
will be born dead before found alive

roots from life
hang over head,
..
..**** em..
..
just empty promises
from another dead

so,

sit in solitude
a solemn wreck
show helping hands,
real neglect

to uncover this hovel.?
no shovel will do
even
a sympathy symphony
wont let light shine through

Empower.

manifest mountain-tops
from bottom rocks-once-kicked
blossom bottle-rock-ets
from sticks, stones,
and,
thoughts of home

illuminate
cold dismal walls
elucidate
ambitious calls

burst forth reborn
alter the skyline
with mind
refined

you can do anything
you put your mind to
look in the mirror
say im just tryna find you