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Every night, I lay, eyes open, mind choking,
On fumes, my mind burns and it's smoking,
And through all this joking, they can't see,
I'm just another one of the broken, so I flee,
To a place that to me, is where I feel free,
Where I can breathe, if you perceive and believe,
That nothing is ever what it seems, you'll be,
On top of the world, watch as this plot unfurls,
A nineteen-year-old walking story, stalking glory,
Pages full of powerful and moving recollections,
Splash cold water on my face, look at my reflection,
We all must travel in the right direction, or am I,
Possibly a rare exception, to this rule, I wonder and I,
Standby, awaiting the answers to this riddle called life,
Sitting in the middle, between dark and the light,
I think sometimes I can see on the darkest of nights,
Seeing myself harvesting delights, but then I realize,
It's all my imagination, figment of my creation,
A dramatization of my sight, I sigh, only hoping,
That never again I'll need to do any more coping,
Only smile and laugh from hear on out, yet I doubt,
And deep down inside, I feel it unlikely for it to workout,
Cause the drama, are just tests in disguise, can god hear our cries,
I believe if so, the less he hears that the more you're prized,
Cause there's always someone who has it worse,
Remember this verse, until you are put in a hearse,
Life is too valuable to heavily curse, or lightly disperse,
So hang on to it with every thing that you own,
Because without life you'd have nowhere to call home
It's true home is where tragedy hits the hardest,
Realizing that it's also where the heart is,
Without heart, there would be no artists,
And that would very quickly discard this.
