Look at me and tell me whatever could it be you see
That would make you want to irrationally turn your worst nightmares into a reality
And take the knife out of your chest cavity that threatens the vitality of your mentality
And thrust it forwards back at me in the name of brutality.
It's not that I think I'm sane, you see I'm just running out of imaginary friends to blame
For every thought running around in my brain, that I can just no longer seem to restrain
If I tried any harder I'd start busting my veins, so I'm sorry if my actions may seem a little bit strange.
But keeping my thoughts wrapped in chains, is just too hard for someone like me to maintain.
I'm just tired of seeing things the way they are instead of how I want to see
Or maybe I'm tired of reality and am ready for my own to believe
Or maybe my philosophy is an atrocity that I've tried to build up modestly but now it's attacking me in all it's ferocity.
Is this a dream or is it just a fantasy? Possibly, but maybe the after affect of a mental calamity
Except this time I can't ignore it just so casually, it's built up to the point that it's a catastrophe
But thankfully, this tragedy, isn't all in vanity, just my sanity practically falling at the speed of gravity while I sit by and wait anxiously, writing about it it in the form of poetry.
That would make you want to irrationally turn your worst nightmares into a reality
And take the knife out of your chest cavity that threatens the vitality of your mentality
And thrust it forwards back at me in the name of brutality.
It's not that I think I'm sane, you see I'm just running out of imaginary friends to blame
For every thought running around in my brain, that I can just no longer seem to restrain
If I tried any harder I'd start busting my veins, so I'm sorry if my actions may seem a little bit strange.
But keeping my thoughts wrapped in chains, is just too hard for someone like me to maintain.
I'm just tired of seeing things the way they are instead of how I want to see
Or maybe I'm tired of reality and am ready for my own to believe
Or maybe my philosophy is an atrocity that I've tried to build up modestly but now it's attacking me in all it's ferocity.
Is this a dream or is it just a fantasy? Possibly, but maybe the after affect of a mental calamity
Except this time I can't ignore it just so casually, it's built up to the point that it's a catastrophe
But thankfully, this tragedy, isn't all in vanity, just my sanity practically falling at the speed of gravity while I sit by and wait anxiously, writing about it it in the form of poetry.
