Theres something so soothing in the way things are read.

Like an artist spitting life through his pen from his head.

The anonymity that comes from being known for what you've said

Instead of where you came from, where you're going, and where you've been instead.

The cup is running empty, but my head is more than full.

Look and see, I'm drowning, in the pit of a poets soul.

In my head and in my heart, I know I'm spinning out of control.

I'm crossing lines, I'm breaking rules, and ignoring what I've been told.

I'm impatient, I'm selfish, and a little bit insane.

I can't handle my emotions, they pour out of me like rain.

I have trouble holding back what I've fought so hard to contain.

I was born with inner demons, and a hurricane brain.

Even the prettiest person comes with troubles you cant see.

Not everything in life is as seen on TV.

Fuck peace, fuck love, I want my mind to feel free.

I want to be something, someone other than me.

But I'm shackled to a wall that broadcasts my shame.

I'm terrified, yet comforted, that things will never be the same.

I cling to my solitude so I can hide who I became.

But I'm still carrying my head up high, and taking all the blame.

Author's Notes/Comments: 


View manic_poetic's Full Portfolio