up up down
all the time falling falling
calling for help
life is like a broken record and poetey
the only thing that keeps me still
wile the world falls down arownd me
if iv still got something to hold on to
if thers something worth it
worth evrey thing i do
i live on a island of pece when i have a pen in my hand and a thort in my head
i dont care what you think you will neve be abel to explane how it feels
and people think we wight about soft things
but no its raw and gritey and pure all at the same time
how it makes us fell well as i wight this i get a feeling of adrenalin and forse pushing
driving to one gloel to get this thing in my head out on the the cleen wight paper and spole its cleen wight vaginatey
with the black blue red ink
taking a deep breth and looking at what youv made a monster on a page
rip it up and start agen…
let the roses grow on