Woke up, 4:34 A.M,
cold sweat
drenched my t-shirt,
my heart was beating fast,
These sheets were made
for sleeping.

Not this.

Mother may I tell you the truth?
      That these demons been all haunting my insides.
Mother can I be honest for once?
      Cause the truth seems out of my reach.
Mother How often do you cry for me?
       I know them liquor bottles stopped doing their trick.
Mother why'd it all come out to this?
       Our words still sharp, the scars they left refuse to heal.
Mother tell me when I can come home.
       Winter is coming and I got no more warmth left in me.

I never understood the secrets in my house hold
in the place where your parents are supposed to hold your hand and guide you
all i got was scared wrist and glass threw
loud arguements nights of long crying and then denying it ever happend
the crack in the family's foundation breaks down to the weakest link
leaving them broken and wanting to be set free
so we find ourselves in pills , drugs, alcohol
to escape this place we call home
in a house full of people but all alone

i get lost in my mind with my eyes closed
been walking around my whole life with blind fold
what has time told?
that all repeats or just flies out the window
the older you get it gets less simple
but you will never notice until its to late
got pay rent put food on the plate
is it fate to have everything that you wanted
or is it all just thrown in the air and you pass or you bomb it
nonsense we all got a hand on the wheel in the cockpit
it don't matter what happened in the air its how you land it
granted we didn't have the best plane or the best crew
but your pilot of your life its always been about you

What is the problem
the disappointment in your face
the sadness in your eyes
that sly somber smile you use as your disguise  
the feeling of wanting someone with you
...and then no one at all
Are they the problem?
Piercing; judging with their looks
whether it be about the person I love  
if I believe in up above
or if I keep my head in books
Am I the problem?
for being so self conscience  
for letting depression grasp it's hands on everything I've conquered  
am I wrong for taking on peoples problems  
so I can ignore mine
even knowing once I'm alone again they will be on the rise
I'm the problem
They're the problem
The problem will always be there and always true
and now that you're done with mine  
**whose problem are you?

Every Part
        *Every Stroke
                  Every Line
                           Every Curve
                                    Every Shape
           to start somewhere
                   and everything else
                                        will follow.


*© Pax

Dear, you aren't empty-headed
Continue describing the firework shows you witness before slumber
Tell me more of your flowery dreams
And those dewdrop coffee-topped mornings I do so hate but you make me love

**So, so much.