I made a melody, but if it will only add insult to injury then ill forget everything I wanted to be. I made a joke to death, no more insults if you can help me before my last breath. My life is beginning to undress, ill destroy this whole house, and if the world ended I wouldn’t have to die with a gun in my mouth. Sickness, but I have hope that’s plain to see, this world is melancholy with one last violent plea
I’m so lonely, I’ve been to the door and forgot the key. I wrote this book lately, please keep helping me, hold my hand just so I can stand. You may be a man but I feel like I’m still a boy, deprived of toys and joy. To some this is a game, but ignorance is oil to a blue flame. I swerve back and forth between each lane, I cut my arm and exceed expectations to stay sane. Chasing fame, drowned cupid but still looking for love, there is no heaven just clouds up above. I wanted to see it but I’d be denied, I could write a magnificent article about how I died
This is morbid, this is absorbing my fatal wound, I got mad instead of glad and I keep losing every fucking thing that I once had. My skin is green, my body is gaunt far from lean, the thoughts for my masterpiece are so obscene that the obvious conclusion would be that I’m mean. I’m sick and I’m ill, go back to rehab and my sponsors will pay the bill. The moon and my motivation is over the hill, the reason I get up everyday is a big white pill. As long as I smell blood I will prowl, as long as there is competition I will kill, you can maximize a howl so we can all enjoy the sighting of the rarest owl right above Dream Mountain. My heart drips skill and determination as though it was a fountain, the Strawberry’s are youthful, passion is becoming less merciful, I needed a shield so I used an old friend to finally make him useful. He caught to in the chest, one in the leg, imaginary bullets cause everyone to beg. People talk so much shit, their breath stinks, you may be tough but I’ve got the intuition to make your ego shrink. My dad tortured me and I barely blinked, baseball bats, spitting in my hat, calling my mom a rat, I always limped but i didn’t blink, I saw a future with a large contract that I could ink, but oh god the pain is making me sink!
My ink…is nearly dry, I use my quill to write these poems, synthesize tears as I begin to cry. Please hold me friends, because I don’t want die! Some people feast on my dreams, I had a fetish for your feet to call you supreme. I bowed, praised and gave advice, but now they search for another boy entice. As far as you’re concerned, we aren’t friends you’ll help me burn. This is indirect, but by god help me heal this painful slice on my neck! I’m so close to being gone, no symphony, no award and no song. I wrote a letter to god, please forgive me and right my wrongs. And if I fall, please know that I loved you all.