There's a
walk-in
dungeon in my head.
I go there to talk.

To the demons at my door,
the once I would implore.
But I just go to talk.

And I ask them how I
know them so well
yet so little about myself.
They say;
"Son look around you,
the flames they surround you,
you've been going through hell."

GUITAR CHORUS

A day,
or two,
running through my mind.
They said the pain would fade in time.
I should'a know that they were lying.
I should have know they were...

My friends, they're there, I know they care,
but through the pain I still compare,
their human flaws with the abuse
of a world that I once knew.

The music has stopped playing but the rhythm still echoes in my head. It saddens me to know our paths have to abruptly end this way. I guess fate was bound. Even before we started. The souls aligned but the bodies speak a different language. Thanks for the memories.

I’d like to apologize.
Not to you though.
No, I’d like to apologize to myself.
I’m sorry for never being strong enough
to express myself fully or honestly.
I’m sorry for never being brave enough
to stand up to you.
I’m sorry for letting myself suffer
for your comfort for all these years.
I’m sorry for letting you control
my thoughts and actions this whole **** time.
I’m sorry for thinking that I was the perpetrator
instead of the victim.
I’m sorry for thinking I had done anything wrong.
I’m sorry for continuously letting you use me
as a tool to hurt myself.
And above all else.
I’m sorry that it took me twenty years to fully realize
that I don’t owe you a **** thing.

I’m sorry I got that question wrong.
I’m sorry I can't move on.

I’m sorry I'm not smarter.
I’m sorry I couldn't be stronger.

I’m sorry how I take on as much as I can
only to ***** it all up.
And I’m sorry I couldn't find the man
inside my empty cup.

I’m sorry I waste my time away
trying to find a dreamy way
to happiness
when of course,
there's no such thing.

I’m sorry I don't talk much anymore
or that I let on how my heart is sore
from all the roughness
and how it keeps beating
without a source.

In fact, I must confess,
I am dying under boundless stress.
Each day my depression attacks,
reopening these countless cracks.
So many times have I walked this hall
feeling so weak and so small,
bracing for a final fall
just waiting till my lifeline snaps,
like any second I’ll collapse,
but of course I never do,
I know better than that.

But if I were to give my final words today,
this is exactly what I would say.
But that I won't undergo
I suppose you’ll never know

how sorry I am that there's nothing I’m on top of
and for dormantly letting endless piles of work tower above.

And how I’m sorry for caring more than I should
and letting myself be so consumed.

I’m sorry for impeding the impedeless
and for hoping in the hopeless.

And finally,
most especially,
I am sorry
for wanting to be so important
and that I became nothing but torment.
I am sorry for wanting so hard to be heard
when it's clear I’ll only ever come third.
I’m sorry for thinking I could matter
or that I could make things better.
I am sorry for believing
that I could amount to anything
at all.

Lord, I'm not perfect.
And I mix things up.
And I'm so grateful.
That you've got my back when all goes ******.

But there's more to the story;
You forgive me. You shape me.
You resolve my head of worry.
You've got my back when I f#k it up.

Is this a love song?
Or a declaration?
I think it's a reminder!
I'm not the only one.

Perspective: I am an ant.
And you are the Son.
You are the one I seek.
In the morning, you are my rising sun.

Lord, I'm not perfect.
I go round and round in circles,
and when things erupt
I hide and nonchalantly pray: miracles.

Lord, I'm not perfect.
And I f#k things up.

Sorry **

I wanted to scream....
and
scream
and
scream....
I'm sorry! I'm sorry! god, I'm so sorry.
but I couldn't, I was choking, and crying.
silently dying.
every word I spoke killed, my touch shattering.
everything is my fault.
who is this person I have become?

Apologies,
Just words,
Words anyone could say.
Did you really mean it?
You say you did,
but why did you do it again?

Please don't say sorry,
While pretending to feel regret.
Thinking after just one word,
Everything will be fine,
That three simple words,
Will change how I see you now.

But I can't.

How are words supposed to erase
The pain, tears, and scars,
already made?

How sorry I am
That's the title of the
Book I will write.
If I say,
I may write,
Where does my sorry go?