Some days I just feel like dying
Getting up, going through the paces and inducing myself into the nostalgic, egregious welcome blackness called sleep
Where all can go, but few can witness
What everyone sees, what nobody can see, because only I can see this wonderful tapestry of light, of sound, of color, of beauty
Words can not describe the complex simplicity of it
I know nobody could know
And when I try to explain, the thought breaks away
And I bury myself in soliloquies and stories

Skies are blue, grass is green, night is black and clouds are white
But color is not of importance to me
Because I see things for what they should be
The purpose they serve, that is what should only be

Some days I want to rip down this curtain of **** and burn it down with the rest of the lies that I weave, the stories I thread, and poetic verses I bull****ted through
And reveal to them the pile of **** I truly am
It was once, but will never be
Because I am like color
Unimportant, but serving a purpose
But to them I am more than color I am a revolutionary figure separated from the pack, belting out my war cry telling them I will show them the path to victory

But that bull**** ain’t true my friends.
I want to walk into her house and see the angel that will never await me
Those unaccepting door frames and unreflective mirrors of hell
They tell me I haven’t earned their belief and I recognize these things, these soul-less terrors the only things that I will ever have respect for
They see through the bull**** and they still respect me
They guide me they challenge me they view me as the pile of **** I am and I revel in their judgment for it is right, it tells me I have a purpose, that I don't have to shoot for nothing!

The house sits up on a hill kiddies and it ain’t letting in no one right now, it’s occupied by me.