There's a lunatic in my mirror.

The gentlest of flowers
are constantly trampled
under heavy boots

There's still that small part
of me that whispers "I know
you'll hurt me, too."

Sometimes you have to bite the bullet
Even when it comes from your own revolver
The wars on the inside your behind enemy lines
Because they are your lines

Shipped away into deep thoughts
You can't send letters to family
You're afraid they will know
Of the war of a confused mind

Keep your head down they are firing depression
Put your gas mask on anxiety is coming
Keep down low or you will be taken out
Stay in your trench of a bedroom.

Alcohol, the artificial happiness
Seems cheaper than the real thing
Rooms spinning like depressing theme parks
Pavements became pillows

My mouth tastes like sour ash
The start of the night never existed
It always felt like it was about to end
But time became a fairy tale

Feeling indestructible to the world
But a victim to yourself
A Grenade that lost its pin
Weapons became bottled up.