In life,
there's an 'if' and a 'lie'.
In beautiful,
there is a 'beat'
and a 'F' and a 'U'.
Life is tricky,
you will always question it,
and people will lie.
There are too many people in life,
who will try to deceive you.
Being beautiful is harmful,
you will always 'beat' yourself up,
and 'beat' others
who are prettier,
or more presentable,
than you.
You will curse them out,
with a 'F' and a 'U'.
But you must accept
where you are in life.
Its not a competition to be beautiful,
and what does "being beautiful"
truly mean?
You must accept
that people will lie,
and you will question your choices.
Once you understand this,
then you'll realize,
that,
life is beautiful.

I'm running out of time,
i'm late, i'm late.
How will I ever,
fix this mess I created,
how much longer,
do I have
until my time is up.

I'm moving so slowly,
i'm scared, i'm scared.
How can I save,
one of my passions,
how can I make,
something beautiful
start again.

I'm falling endlessly,
no ground, no ground.
When will I land,
on solid earth,
will I ever,
land on the ground
again.

Im running out of time,
I'm late, i'm scared.
Will people hate me,
for not being there,
will they stop,
being there for me,
because I was not able to
be there for them.

Am I late,
I must be,
i'm too late,
and i'm sorry.

Sometimes I feel,
like I would die without my music.
The comfort
of my base drum's steady beat,
and the excitement of the snare drum
and symbols,
keeps me from being sad.

I remember,
when I first started to play the Oboe,
it was my new source of comfort,
something that I could always play,
and be happy,
along with my drums.
For years,
if you heard either the drums,
or the oboe,
coming from my room,
you knew not to enter.
I wanted to be alone,
and be absorbed into my music.

I got my own piano on year,
I would teach myself,
because I do not like it
when others force me to learn,
what can I say,
i'm stubborn.
I played the piano
everyday,
along with
the oboe, and
the drums.
Music was my happiness.

One day,
I became sad,
depressed almost.
I couldn't bring myself
to play my music.
My instruments just sat in my room,
untouched,
for weeks.
I couldn't bring myself
to play them,
at the time
it was easier to just lie
in my bed,
and do,
nothing.

But one morning,
i got up,
because I don't like,
the easy way out,
I was disgusted with myself
for taking that path.
Slowly, hesitantly I reached
for my oboe,
the instrument that I constantly
battled with.

I played part of a song,
that I learned years ago,
and I felt myself start to smile,
truly smile,
after weeks of fake smiling,
and pretending to be happy.

Sometimes the sadness,
can make the things you enjoyed doing,
into something you despise,
because it only held happy memories,
that will never occur again.
But they won't ever occur again,
because I was sad,
and not truly living.

But just the feel of playing my oboe,
made me understand
that things go wrong,
and sometimes you can't stop it,
but you must move on,
because if you don't
you will waste your life away,
becoming a shell
of your former self.
You'll die feeling alone,
in a dark room,
where you feel like
no one loves you,
even though that is not true.