• Wet bitter whip of this cigarette smoke,
    Is an air I breathe when I just want to choke,
    Nothing matters as if this agitated mentality is bending me until I break,
    and every little force outside of my mind caves in; I stumble and I shake,

    Fingers tucked in the front of my hair and my back's against the wall,
    Anxiety is consuming me whether these casting shadows are short or tall,
    Then when the sun goes down to rest the shadows explode into the room,
    The silhouette reflection burdens my chest like a mirror created from a costume,

    My eyes burn through this body that's swallowed me whole,
    Even when I can see my own truth it still wants me out of control,
    Masochist of my own heart, my mind's ripping my reality apart,
    I run a race I can't even start; a painting made that's not considered art,

    Now with all this nonsense all I have to ask is "what am I doing?"
    It's a life of weakness; I don't even remember when or how I started pursuing,
    It's only winning and losing,
    What's in between is just confusing...