Writing is where I purge,
Whether good or bad...

A small secluded world of my own,
Uncorrupted by society's rules...

Appraise me,
What am I worth...

I wish I had a purple cow,
Who said quack instead of moo...

None of it matters anyway,
It's all make believe right...

Do not cast your fake smiles upon me
Or attempt to drown me in your masochistic tears...

Nestled in the darkened woods
Devouring your song...

My mind drips
with the guilty blood of your memory...

It's too late to know what could have been
Our love is in the past...

You can't save me
From myself...

Laying idle, you're fading fast,
A refugee to this mist...

No one needs to know,
The hurt I feel inside...