you will never have the time .time to figure out whats deep inside. time to figure out all the lies. the lies that i write in my mind the lies that i try my best to hide. i try my best to hide them . but if you took a closer look. you can see i hide them on my arm. my wrist where i write my biggest sin. the sin that will follow me till my bitter end. the deeper i go i feel the stronger i grow but really strong is a word i will never truely know because only the strong can cope and this copeing doesnt give me any hope copings suppose to make you better not feel like a joke. this hope i speak of is it real or is it just made up to make life look like its better than it is? if it is made up what is there to look forward to? what is lifes perpose other than drownding us in aganie so hard and painful but the real question is does the pain over way the fun of playing the game the game of lifeso wicked and cruel screwing you with every roll of the dice every turn you make with every turn there is a better one you could have took but dont realize till after your life has changed for the worst but hey hind sight is twenty twenty sorry i have no idea what that is.. its not poetry its not even a connected gatherment of thoughts. who the hell knows. "and were just killing time wishing it were eachother." -the morning of