My mind.
I try to revise these words in a way
that you can understand the infestation
in my minds imagination.
But, no matter what mutation
I give these words.
You'll never understand my minds configuration.
Behind my eyelids
are islands of violence.
I'm suspended in a timeless test
being tested by a ruthless examiner
that's best represented by my
depressing thoughts.
To me everyones just writing to say nothing,
speaking to say something,
and I feel like I'm the only that's not rushing to say nothing.
Everyone's dissapointed in my decision,
saying that I gave up on my dream.
Only they don't understand
I've got a really messy mind to clean.
This isn't some sort of roast or chop,
just a suttle attempt to make the voices stop.