i attached you to a
pencil you used
and a
****** song but now
i use pens and
have good taste

Body

Up for sale
one used soul mate
Still some useful miles left
Good second soul to scoot around in
One owner
Female who drove him to church on Sundays
And just sat around the rest of the week
Kept outside so paint is faded unevenly
Tires need replacing
Needs brakes and muffler
Transmission slips and skips
Must sell , to pay for new replacement
Cheap , all offers will be considered .

The overcast skies drag me
onward, onward
     into despair
The chilled wind sings me
deeper, deeper
    towards slumber

When you're lying in bed
wondering
asking
how am I going to keep living
remember that you're here for
wondering
asking
*how am I going to change their lives

But how do you win when you've already lost?
And how do you forgive when you already know the cost?
What's it feel like?
I can't tell anymore, I'm so long lost.
Does it ever end?
Do we stop, dry our eyes, just pretend?
And if there is indeed a way out which one do you recommend?
What's it feel like?
Is there hope for the lost souls?
Is there a way to be good again?

of faking smiles,
pretending im okay

im very very tired
of breaking and beating myself
trying to fit into your cage

im very very tired
of hearing "how are you"s on campus
and knowing that a fleeting friendly second isn't enough to explain

im very very tired
of going out at night and drinking my problems away

im very very tired
of selling myself to feel like i have worth

im very very tired
and sleep just isn't helping

Sometimes, there ain't nothin' to say--
and on these days my tongue lays limp
and delicate and ashy
like one of those incense sticks
just before the ashes drop and disintegrate.

On these days my mind is an insomniac
attempting sleep just before sunrise--
jostling in a half-hazy-lazy rapid eye sedative lullaby
crooning potential plot points from French voices
about a story I've be writing for about a year.

On these days nothing seems finished
from a monster vegetable and eggs breakfast appetite
to a thought about that magic lightning stick.
It's as if there's this thick fatty mist
that smells of boiled ham and peas around my being.

I usually can write,
but sometimes words dont come out right,

i usually can sing,
but sometimes my voice can sting,

i usually can paint,
but sometimes my colours are faint,

i usually can fly,
but sometimes i dont even try,

i usually can laugh,
but sometimes i wanna cry,

i usually can charm,
but sometimes am a ******,

i usually can love,
but sometimes am layed back,

i usually can advice,
but sometimes am the fool,

i usually can give my heart out,
but sometimes an emotionally bankrupt,,,

i usually get weird,,,
but sometimes am normal,

i usually can do a lot,
when am up to it of course..
But sometimes i choose not to,

its just me!