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My mind is a battlefield It has trouble distinguishing danger from safety It makes rain on a tin roof sound like gun fire Makes fireworks on the Fourth of July into an air raid
I’m thinking St. Jude has got a hold on me My head my hands my head Shaking so violently Hand me a bottle, babe I can’t breathe I need to breathe
I lift the cool Tin pitcher, its handle Biting to my bones. Thick cream pervades Its body, concealing numbered Scars with silk bandages. I push its frigid Bottom up and the warm
Life that is without direction, Without thought. People that lead without choice, Without reflection. Those who experience true feeling,
It is dark here in my mind. There is nothingness all the time. My eyes stay shut, I can not see. I reach out for something, or am I hoping it will reach out for me? The smell of defeat and death lingers here.
Sorry forBeing impulsive.A nasty blackSplattered to theSound of a brokenMe. Burnt trust,Rigid to touch.Sweet memoriesWon'tSet you free.
Shelter disdainful epiphanies behind latched heart For pity to sneakily evaporate And emotions grow painfully tart To mediate the dormant desire into blossomed state. Drag Restless on her knees;
Drive, Catalyst, Excitement An involuntary inclination prompting to action Impulse.
What might be okay today won't be okay tomorrow. When your mind allows impulses to take over, it's like you're giving up, you gave up your strength. Strength is usually what helps me through,
An impulse I can't control It all comes on very slow Thoughts start to grow and grow and turn into obsessions Obsessions I cannot resist
An average teenage boy Clunks along the street With his Converse laces Flipping from side to side Catching under the worn soles