It's songs like this that make my throat close,
as the future remains a memory I cannot yet erase.
I'm blinded by the black,
facing razors on my own.
If loose lies sink skies,
then I'll call it paranoia when the walls are shaking.

Welcome to the chains!
This is what it feels to be enslaved
when you're writing lies and telling lines
to make their faces glow,
If I'm sickened by everything
shall I crawl into that hole?
Am I truly ready to dig my own grave?

But I've ripped my past apart
and thrown it out a broken window
just so can go upstairs and frown a bit more,
'cos it seems to fit in with the chemistry of this room.

Yet my sympathies are starting to "regret"
the times and moments I could have spent
in the corner crying my eyes out
with these tears to accompany my swallowed fears.

Alone in this room when my heart stopped beating
and the walls turned into the iciest gray
and I misplaced the greatest moments, isolated in my heart.
(But every word is forgotten when you don't know what to say.)

Pain is so contemporary but getting rid of it holds difficulty
with expectations running dry to leave you with the worst of your intentions.
It won't make sense to anyone
besides me and my imaginary images that love to ruin my days.

Where to go from here?
The sorrow plagues the paper
as the ink stains the sheets with tears released to a private audience
and all that was was complete is hollowed out.
I'll redefine agony for another lonely day.