i write about things like sorrow and sadness

with little subtle hints of my own complete madness

dark rooms, late nights

contemplating things that make me think twice

so yea…

i stop at the brink

where common people find themselves

but i regain,

my self-awareness, my consciousness, and my general loath for those around me

i dont know what i'm becoming

and i'm slowly starting to doubt me

or am i losing myself?

one bolt at a time

but then again i'm trapped in these confinements of what some may call their mind,

so every night before dawn

i write about things like sorrow and sadness

with little subtle hints of my own complete madness