Struggling with pages and what they mean to me
Fighting myself for value and currency
Placing the blame on not where it needs to be
Am I the only one lost in the madness
Am I the only one dealing with sadness
Fighting myself with the words I never said
Giving value to a self I cannot shed
I am lost
Trouble speaks
Broken teens will speak of unrelatable things as if they’ve touched a thing
My heart it bleeds. My mind it needs
You not to value tragedy
Shitty is the poet who writes his own dying script
Filling in the voids of chasing words he never meant aside from his subconsciousness
There’s nothing I have left to say to you
Everything is unrepairable. Broken and abused
There’s no love to fit the mold
Like a flower comes to surface
Through the concrete like a criminal
