down long rodes we ride

no light insite no end near

scars on my arm like wrighting read only by me

i know evry line ever virse

i know the name of ech of the people who put them there

im a cobweb the strans are cut in to my flesh

i cach no flys just pane and greef

my head is a monster ready to rip my heart out

it sends me screeming in to the nigh

“that girls not really there”

the girl at the end of my bed isunt there

the blood on the floor isunt there

im a child still 17

then how come i feel the wind on my skin as if i were 100

how come im not real here im like a scare crow

i look like im here but when you get close im just a wisp of smoke

i fly high above the world but im flying down

im starting at the mood and im free falling to earth

im dead im not hear im druk on the floor

the pool of blod sperds like a blanket it keeps me warm

but im not hear

the cuts on the under side of my arm arnt there

the pane isunt there the shakeing isunt there the darkness isunt there im not feeling cold im not dieing im not bleeding out…

im not hear im in your mind now im not real