There’s always demon’s reaching for me I was overwhelmed by the turn out.
I tried to sleep, but it’s impossible when you’re waiting for your mind to burn out.
Like when the fire goes out before bedtime and you already smell the candle wax.
I know my future, but fail to handle facts.. I can pick out every piece the canvas lacks.
So damaged without a plan to react..this is a poor excuse of a man that's standing back.
I take away reality until it’s returned tenfold, and repeats like that random track.
It’s fucked up, darks still a threat, visions of nothingness in that stark silhouette.
A little taste of support is like popping a Darvocet, then you start to fill the stress.
Pain is easy to heel, it’s hard to shield the rest, and parts of you still regret….
That you didn’t give up.. You were always told that it was smart to build success.
The dose of reality hits and the cold makes you feel depressed, ill… then death.
When you start to see the missing pieces on the canvas it becomes a chilling sketch.
Not having a balance between reality and make-believe, is a lethal condition.
It’s not like the demons had far to reach if she was lying in the fetal position.
It’s hard for her to breath, it was like a needle pinching….
The hands had a tight grip on her pulling her down, frequently clenching.
At Least the fire was a night light when it was too dark, thank god for feeble momentum.
The desire burned out like motivation and satin had equal intention.
The lies were a weavable extension, to any reasonable existence.
You can’t reason with it, reality is the cold hard truth, the toughest pill to swallow.
She’s letting the staccato pull her to the abyss, and there’s judgment still to follow.
The soothing rhythm always faded away, she loved the real vibrato
Sorrow keep her down, so she struggled to conceal the bottle…
Of poison, that continued to fill what’s hollow.
Something’ to accompany the emptiness would have been like hitting the lotto.
Missing bravado is understandable when you’re living in a dark hole.
When you’re being grilled by the same hands that turned your bones into charcoal.
I faced these problems by the carload, then ended up being the devil’s cargo.
I know what she’s going through is harmful, we both played a large role.
We tried to escape from hell when it’s impenetrable if you’re marked with a barcode.
Who would blame us if we tried to leave?
If you think about it heaven is just a tunnel to the sky.
We put up with so much trouble, you and I, that it’s impossible to funnel through the lie.
I have this nightmare of dying without you….
There has to be an alternative plot twist, like a couple ruined by, double suicide.
Reply With Quote
