Her mouth: the trap door.
It pulls you in and screams for more
and now she's flirting with disaster,
playing with fire and burning faster.

Her latch is weak and opens easy.
You'll always lose when she gets greedy.
Also stemmed from her abyss:
the self -respect of a dying fish.

Oh, it comes and goes, but here it comes.
We better latch the door and ******* run.

A gloomy thought has crossed my mind:
to write a note of suicide.
When in times this hard, this rough and gritty
I do not seek your ruined pity.
A personal intimacy is what I desire-
to lift my spirit and start a fire.
With this script, I believe I'd see
the very people that believe in me.
It is with your faith that I move on.
It is with this faith that I grow strong.
My broken heart could fill an envelope
and pressed between I'd be forced to cope.
When I have reached a humbled level.
I hope the sad will weep and revel.
It is this level that I'd like to acquire;
to provide light for the weak as I inspire.

When I look into a mirror in my imaginary world,
I see my face in the form of plastic, melting as it's skewed.
The alphabet is distant and my jaw shudders at the thought of rooms
filled with gold and colors as the fungus in me is consumed.
With this puddle feeling and trees reflected in my wake,
I know I should be sleeping, but my mind is wide awake.
Anything that flashes pulls the wall's breath to sights I can't mistake.
I'm cold and covered in my skin as ideas spill out thin
and the letters slowly gather and my mouth is caving in.
Train-wrecked are my teeth with whatever this might be.
They're pressing inward on my mind as I lose my self in sound.
My teeth are slowly bending, wrecking everything around.

I think I've been bugged, but not the whole world is watching.
This is a sight for private eyes with sad, cryptic mumbling.
I've got more tabs than a notebook,
but surely she won't look
because there is nothing to find.
She tells me to worry,
I tell her to hurry
and clean up the mess that's not mine.
All of the doctors will diagnose this,
it's only a matter of timing.
A.P.S. in your chest.
The gears of your heart have been grinding.

I've got slivers in my thumbs
and an infection in my gums.
I'm throwing out my stops
and setting fire to my crops.

I want to start this venture with a newly cleaned slate.
I've built bridges in my mind to new places I don't hate.
I've done things I've been ashamed of and I've done things I can't believe,
but the past is not my future and my faults will take their leave.

You can trust me now.
My dishonesty, I cede.
I've loosened up these chains
and made it possible to see.
So who else will to step out
to take a new life on with me?

Pluck me from this well-rooted piece of life.
The consistency is right and I bloom all throughout the night.
Show me now where we all go
when we whimper and decompose.
Wipe your feet as steady as your fortune goes.
Where they have been, only you know.
In time you will understand the meaning of this.
I hope that by then you'll have given a ****.

Grief giver, soul killer.
I could ruin lives
This isn't self flattery,
It's my possessive pride.
Yet, still I mumble apologies,
it seems they're never old.
But, the freshness of our purity
has since been turned to mold.
How many times can I say I'm sorry,
before you'll even know?
I hope that one day you can trust in me
and realize I have grown.
Well, now you're in a rut,
but you should know this.
I know you'll tough it out
and you know I'll notice,
because I can always tell you at your fullest.
I know a smile can keep you afloat.
It makes the pressure lessen around your throat.
Breathe in that air, here comes the sun.
Good days are coming, your course has not run.