I speak, with the ink I pen on the millionth sheet.
A book full of horrors...
Why?..
It's my life. I'm blind and I cannot speak.
You left me silent.
Silence, please die. You're consuming my life!
I can't get inside of my own mind!
I can't help but wonder as I walk through the woods at night, the man in robe following me with no skin and a scythe, what does it mean to be alive?
We're a constantly working bag of flesh, conscious and breathing, a heart always beating, WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE ALIVE? TELL ME!
Give this up.
Give yourself to a God that promises love, though his followers are corrupt.
Your image is faded.. your mind isn't chasing a higher knowledge of anything. It's more of a science. We're told what to think and what to believe. If we can't see what it means to be alive, how can we be free?
To be alive is to live as a selfless being.
A humble man, no crown though a king. You lead with victory but you rule with sympathy.
I speak, with the ink I pen on the very last sheet..
An empty void with no meaning, I'm trying to fill with words and truths but nothing I do is enough to prove to you..
Mirror on the wall don't let me see why I hate myself, why I sit and judge every tiny thing about myself.
I want to reflect the good and leave the bad in the shadows.
Never to be seen again.
