crashing cars through tight buildings - wrestling with restless demons who enjoy a bit of horseplay - watching the moon watching me watching the stars - and blood pouring forth from edge to ceiling - and its all so appealing to my present feeling. gunshots blank across the midnight sky - feeling my truth - knowing i lie with the best of them - if not the best of them - i am better when i am at my worst because i am tremendously cursed - and in the end it wont make a difference - because words are only words - fragments of time slipped across space - forgotten as soon as they are released. tormented souls dancing around bon fires built from dusty bones - telling tales of love and horror stories of happiness - and it all comes down to the feeling of hatred and the loving of anger - because girls shouldnt be so morbid - only seen - not heard - i cannot help but feel like cursing god for this dealt hand i hold - counting my cards - knowing in the end i will lose the game - no matter which way it was played. changed - but never fully rearranged - always waiting for the proper time to be what id like to be but it never comes - and gets lost between the faces in the walls - the shadows passing on the wall laughing at my situation - fearing my mind - wanting out themselves - but trapped because i keep them here - the ghosts turning once or twice before vanishing into the darkness surrounding this castle built on unstable lies and misrepresented truth. it doesnt matter in the end because everything you create goes on its own - eventually - momentarily seen - but inevitably forgotten - because no one elses mind can even imagine the horror floating through yours - because there are more good ones then bad ones - and it all gets lost without proper meaning. i have seen faces in the wall - counted the bricks in those walls - drawn my own messages on those walls - secretly denying that something inside feels different then the suffocating reality of normality and what will it all mean in the end - youll still go alone with neither foe nor friend. burdened minds are the least enjoyable - because the nonsense can never end like rose petals falling into the wind carried down into the pits of hell wishing for a better resting place - but only finding god mocking your face. eh.