Are my feelings intellectual or just regrettable?
Can my cries make my success acceptable?
Or do the promises of feathered lies keep me alive?
I can see my mother decompose by the broken moans
And those moans echoe through her heart
And Sometimes I mistake my pain for my laughter
And deep down inside I only have myself in the dark
And I hate the fact that me and my love aren't together
So my nightmares tell me to "wait for the gun to spark"
If I only knew what my love was
Yet, experience tells me it's my weakness that turns into disgust
That it's "mixed feelings bottled with hatred and lust"
And my lonliness is a feeling that can leave the stains of rust
As a result, in the dark I battle myself until one winner is on top
That Troy in my head, when will he ever stop
His protection from other adolescents keep my head from tearing apart
But, his ridicule and hatred is related with this self-loathing haven I call my thoughts
Is it my fault?
Can anyone understand?
And does a beautiful, evil seraphim Angela have the keys to my vault?
I can't even determine the amount of my unfairness that is viewed as sermons
And these employers are like Nazi Germans
So, I wonder will the parks link to become my December?
Or do I have to bleach these black stains that lie on my heart?
I don't want to remember any of the Junes that go back to September
And I'd rather you not call these scars "marks"
So, I'll grab a hammer and transform these "marks" into fractures.