A thousand thoughts at any given time, all scattered across my mind's canvas
Insurmountable urges, my eyes on everything that matters to me, a hundred things missed

An unstructured set of thoughts, where whatever wants to leave will do so when given the freedom
An aimless row of creativity, where I paint whatever I desire because there's only so much to go around

I'm dancing with death's lover, it's a different version of me
Addiction to intimacy, as it rubs me the right way
When I leave in the pursuit of what I love, how much of what I've always had will I part ways with?

…And many such cases, as I can only express all that's available to me in the white space that's left

I wish boys cried like I do—by letting their sorrow soak into words, rather than into the mind where resentment may brew
Not in the case of truly being wronged, but in the case of feelings they're simply not allowed to act on

Even under the stone I seldom turn over, I often find myself privy to the actions of my brethren
And since I'm finally reaching for new grass, I'll say a hundred boys should sooner cry than try and seek some petty revenge

Fear breeds more fear, hatred breeds more hatred; and when the two mix, psychosis steadily shows its hand
With a man's desire to hold a gun fulfilled, it ends up being aimed at both himself and the innocent

To put on a front of fake masculinity is to chip away at everything but the pain waiting to be destroyed
So crying, even with a feeling of shame, will always be what I wish for—because the strength to be vulnerable leaves the strength to feel another day

The invisible warmth of a hug that doesn’t exist
The lasting effects of words never truly said

The idea of an “angel” who’s biggest sin is gluttony
Though that insatiability is only in the comfort of saving others

Someone who, in my eyes, would never judge me for all I hold in contempt
Someone who would finally be able to recognize the side of me I hold out despite my terrors

If I idolize that “angel,” I fear I may just burn out
Even if she’s almost everything I want, I can’t help but give myself up to gluttony as well

But if I don’t chase what I’m afraid of head-on
There’s no point in saying that she’s saved me

So I’ll continue to fill myself with this enamorment anyway

The vehement desire to make something your own, even at the potential expense of yourself
Hot water may feel good on one's back, but overindulgence will disfigure the skin

An innate inability to be gentle in the midst of passion, often appearing ****** to bystanders
The insatiable sin of lust is a flawed child of hedonism, staring in the face of a future drowning in consequence

How is the one meant to be held in your arms supposed to trust them when they've superficially been around a dozen others?
How can the heart focus on claiming what it needs if the body still reaches for everything it wants?

No matter how good something may feel, insincerity in the face of love yields disrespect
And the family lust finds in gluttony and envy will only egg it on with no supervision

Flowery language distracts the mind and makes things seem more beautiful than they really are
Pretentiousness, even if involuntary, floods the strokes of sophisticated dialogue in waves

Arrogant words, from classy to degenerate, rot the mind
Because everybody wants to be seen as a higher tier of being

Straightforwardness is an unremarkable standard, but subtle beauty between the lines shows thoughtfulness
Though, maybe everyone needs a little bit of pride anyway