I'm tired of these dark thoughts, wild imaginations
of a world too large and out to get me
A microscope kaleidoscope of ever-changing beliefs
Too small for the world around me, too large for the mind that houses them
And too much for the one who can't escape them
Alone for so long, with so few who actually care
who are actually there; and it wears and it tears
upon the very fabric of the existence that resides within
It surrounds and bears down, upon my existence, my human soul
Upon my shoulders, never relenting
I know I should be happy with what I have, be content
with who I am; where I am; but I can't
I'm probably expecting too much of myself
But if I can't expect the same things as expected of everyone else
Then what can I; what will I do
if I can't even overcome the minor issues
So I falter; I fall; back down to darkened thoughts
Dead imaginations of flitting reconciliations
I figured that if I put my past behind me
I would rise up and do something
But I'm thinking even more these days
That I just need something more; I need an escape
From this up and down thriller ride
From this epic dialogue within my mind
Something that will even me out
Deliver me from the highs and lows
Of this disease that's been designed to kill me
Before I go insane; more insane, that is, than I was before
Before I go stark-raving mad, and bodies hit the floor
But even that's a lie, as much as I say it, I despise
the very act of violence, of despicable malevolence
So rather, I hide away; each breath I take, a painful reminder
that I'll take my twisted thoughts to the grave
Because I am a monster, a demon sent to gather
Every last thought of madmen here and thither
And my curse is that I yearn for happiness
Is it too much, that countless others think the same?
That because of thoughts like these, when actions are given thought's blessing
People do wind up killing, blood does wind up spilling
Either their own or the people around them, all based on who they want to die
So far it seems to me that I have pride in getting back up no matter what
But what of the day when people decide to test that
Continually knock me down until I can't rise again; and what of that day?
What comes then?
My death which seems so welcoming at times?
Or perhaps another lie designed to deceive my eyes
Another helping hand given, only to disappear
Another friendly face seen, only to vanish from air
What really proves to confuse and confound
Is how silence can make the loudest sound
When all other noises cease to be relevant
It rises up and trumpets like an elephant
But really it is just perfect, because if silence makes a sound
Then my silent screams can be heard, the horrors of my dark secrets can be shared
and I wouldn't have to be alone in the silence anymore