My mind itself is black and white.
I cannot rid the dark.
I cannot shade the light.

Deep down inside you'll see.
The missing pieces.
I'm still trying to become free...

Of myself.

Believe me when I tell you that magic is real.
That right before your eyes things will change.

And for a split second everything dark, every shadow, seems to wash away as your world fills with color.

But in order for magic to be real...
You have to be real too.

I fear a great many things,
None so severe as the feeling itself.

But it's a self fulfilling circle of hating myself more then I did yesterday,

And I can't tell if it's anxiety or courage that makes me stay away from any and all who I could bother with my misplaced stumbling and mumbling through what others call conversation.

I never know how long to pause or how long I'm aloud to gather my thoughts,

And words are hard, In the spoken sense because with nearly everyone I meet there's a sense of urgency.

Like we're the last two people in the world and they have somewhere more important to be,
So I let them.

If they want to rush through the vast cosmos of thought then I let them,
I let them walk by and I don't say a word because words are hard
And I'd rather spend time with the abstract concepts that tear like a twister through my mind as if being painfully real and a pleasant fairy tale at the very same time.

And this isn't a puff peace to make you feel something like this person I am is someone to be pittied or looked down on.

Words are hard because I don't quite see the point,

Talk is cheap, it can be found anywhere, it spills from our lips like liquid fools gold,

I'm no fool.

And if there's no moon and no stars at night,
you're my light.
Helping me to find the right way.
Helping me to find...home.