All. Just. Lies.Life isn't all just fun and games.No one really tells you about the hidden things swept underneath the rug, now do they?They don't tell you about lies, oh yes, the incredible, lovable lies.Now who doesn't like a daily dosage of that?I mean, all people really are these days are shells.It's your choice to crack it open or not.Do you really want to know what they carry on the inside?Do you?Do you want to see for yourself,The "perfection" that they so themselves told you about or lead you on about?Or would you rather just bury yourself in your own shell and call it a wonderful life?Isn't life all about taking chances,Taking risks,Building up an AMAZING courage to get drowned all over again,To get suffocated until your head bursts,Or until your heart breaks?Ah yes,Such a wonderful life,Full of wonderful choices.
Fate?Why the hell am I hereWhere silence SHRIEKS and SCREAMSAnd invades every one of my dreams?I use to have hopes and goalsAnd now I just breathe and desperately hopeTo make it through another day and not chokeBut there is no peace in my lifeI have nowhere to go, nowhere to hideHave found that friends are enemies and all have liedI wish to be set freeI run screaming down the snow-encrusted streetBut there is nothing there and no one do I meetGod! I scream! Do you not see me here?What did I do to deserve such torment and hateWas I born simply to fulfill this fate????
NowNow and finally,I’m stopping down.It's here - I’m herewithin my depth.I’m in my moment,I’m on my road.There’s nowhere else to goto sing an everlasting song.This is the end of bearing loadsand of shirking themand then pouring into that oldimpression in my bedto dutifully pass from the realm of sound.There’s no more scrawlingback and forthfor nights and nightsand lines over lineson the same seven streets;a tool that screamsin black crayola.Driving homefor the last dark winter,I’m weightier than the fullest moon.I feel the curbs,their buckles and cradles of destinationsuddenly smoothe into an empty plane,and I know my radiushas overlapped some phantom twilight,and I must stay inside the visceraof twin mandalas, a vesica piscis.My life’s no longer premature,I found the end of the bullet wound.And in the vapor of my final secondsat my backdoor screen,I belt the porchlight out into immensitiesof space and sile