It's a blessing that I'm poor,
because I'd probably be dead.
The liquids I've consumed, what I've put into my head.
I know it's a ******* weakness what I'd let myself do.
Yet, I'm still thinking clearly and I'm pretending that's the truth.
I've never been so happy, though life isn't quite ideal.
But, the things that I'm oppressing I've decided aren't real.
Still, I smile because I'm happy and I believe in what I feel.
Try to find yourself like I have and you'll be better off.
Show your teeth as I have and you'll be happy as a god.
Just keep your chin up like I do and you appreciate your life.
If you continue to be mindless, you'll never really be alive.

A man in a tree
just showed me his dream
of a growth ripping out of his head.
But, his mind is a maze,
forever entrancing,
my eyes 'til the end of my days.

These eyes are tired.
This stomach is weak.
iIve been vaguely thinking of why this could be.
But, right now it isn't vague; it's a little bit more
and in the back of my head is a thought.
Perhaps it's this thinking and the things i'm repeating
or maybe it's a little bit more.

I'm complete with sobriety and self-proclaimed notoriety
of living a life without sleep.
Now the wear, the tear, the feeling of nothing
and this fatigue are starting to creep.
My own deprivation just might be the answer,
but maybe its a little bit more.

It keeps adding up, just like I had thought
and it will only keep growing, I'm sure.
There's a little bit more, a little bit more.
There's a little bit more, of that I am sure.

My words, they float up-
like smoke in the air
stretching so thin,
you wouldn't guess that they were there.
They rise to the clouds.
They fade in the sun
and out of my mouth
they were softly sung:

"Please, could you please, bring comfort back to me?
The Giving Tree refuses to give.  
I promise I won't take any more than I need,
if you'll please just free my comfort and spill it over me."

My long string of letters still holds no response.
i fear they've been lost over time.
But, i croon for love and I scream out of hate.
So, after all that, I feel fine.

"Oh, nothing can hurt me, not even your lies.
No, you can't **** my spirit, because this one is mine.
My words may turn brittle, but they'll tickle your spine.
Oh, nothing can hurt me.  I've buried this time alive."

Apprehensive means fearful,
but what's the big fear, though?
This time it can't be the unknown.
Because, wherever the trust went,
it took something with it.
It's that "something" I'm trying to find.
I feel like I've been mind-****** by only myself.
My dimensions of pride have been standing on stilts.
Out of 10 bright lights,
10 of them flash red.
The notion of progress is trite
and straight ******* dead.
As of late I am not a body,
just thoughts that keep me up at night.
So, either I've become invisible,
or I've gone ******* blind.

Better,
better,
better than ever.
Or at least things are better than I last remember
and last I checked, that's a fair enough reason
to dive right in and start believing.

Worse,
worse.
I swear it's a curse.
I know disappointment, but this is a first
and last I checked, that's a fair enough reason
to pick off this scab and promise it's healing.

If you could buy a life,
what kind of things would you like?
How well would you sleep at night,
when things settle down and feel right?
If I could buy a life and show it what I've already seen,
I believe it would be frightened
and I believe it would believe in me.
If you could buy a life,
what kind of things would you like?