Poet In Her HeadI know a girlwith a poet in her headhe whispers sweet nothingsnever trying to make sensehe confuses, it reduces (possibly to tears)but he tries to make sensemind,he never though himself successfulbut any emotion is betterthan apathetic voidbut in raging oblivionis were he takes formI know a boyHe's a poet indeedand he is mebut I'm not himhe lives in her headbut I live in our dreams.
Proper GrammarI guess it's not that easy after allRunning away sometimes hurts everyone includedLike the scribblings of a mad manYou never quite really knowWhere to start with thisSpecially after seeing the endWith perfect punctuation and then..It hits you and you realizeYou're holding the pen.
ConflictColors are so conflictedRed can't decide if it's lovepassion, fury or bloodBlue doesn't know if you're free,flying in the sky, or down, drownGreen is in the life of plantsand in our envious waysBlack on the other handis by far the easy oneWhite cannot even compareit's just the lack of nothingBut back to where we wereBlack is the darkness and hateIt's also me, how I feel.
The Charred and the UncutThis is how it goesin the endwhen the fire roarsit will consume alland you lotwill just be coalI, on the other handI started it allthe sheer knowledgethat you're pointlesshas been pressuring meto the point where I'm a diamondruling over never-where
TalkingI want to hear your voiceit's been so longMuch too longand I've forgottenwhat I was going to sayI just wanna talkand say any words at allto forget what it's like to be aloneBecause life is simplewhen you've got someone to hold
Slip'n'slideI'm rifting,slipping down the slideI obviously mean your lifeAs I glide on byMy aim ain't to pressurethat would leave too much of an impressionand I'd much rather be déjà vuSomething you almost sawand then againbut still changing everythingMore impact than your puny nukeswhen I wage warit's in the silenceAgainst the chatterthe clutterthe background, backdropthat is everyone else.
The End, Again.I'm back on route zerothis is square onebut this timeunlike the last oneI'm not standing in the rainI'm singing,like someone insane.It's easy being cruelwhen you know exactly whyyou hate all of themand you also know the truththat it's all irrationalbut I can't help myselfI've already judged them.So this timeI'll get it rightit will be doneand then it will be overuntil I start againbut on my own termsI'll never be ruled.
BirthrightI have never wished I wasn't bornbut I have wished to be someone elseand often somewhere elsethan this half-good placewhere little half-bad meis just something normalthat you every day seeSomewhere fully-goodwhere I'd be complete-badsuch a total ass,is that what I want?I don't really knowbut I can't be sureuntil I actually doI have never wished I wasn't bornbut I have wished to be someone elseand often somewhere elsethan this half-good placewhere little half-bad meis just something normalthat you every day seeSomewhere really-badwhere I'd be sorta goodsome say I am,but why would I trust them?I believe I'm badand that's thatuntil proven wrongSometimes I cannot stand this placea lot of the timeI cannot stand myselfand all I can really put up withis out of my reachit plays in another leagueSo please tell mewho would I beif I was born right thereIn that place over the seaand I cannot tellif it's good or badso how should I knowif I'd even be me?or s
DesperationDesperationIt's worse when you don't know why you're feeling itwhen you don't know where you're coming fromwhen you cannot explain how you got where you areit comes creepingrespiration becomes something fleetingall hope seems out and that only feeds it,of course it does thatfor in the night even the least of frights become horrorsBut all of that is unreal, it never livedThe dead cannot instill fear in me.They are dead, they are done, finished, over.but we're not dead, we're real, we exist.We can die, and we all will.This world can be destroyedand I am seeing it happen before my eyes.But I haven't seen people die, not reallyI haven't even seen animals die,and still... I know... I have somethinga force, a knowledge, that I could kill.And then I realize itwhere the desperation is fromIt's from people like mewith one differencethey're armed and already commitingWith guns in their pantsand knives in their hands.With bombs on their chests,and without the minds to