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Description
Piles of words toppled on top of each other in the most mixed match sort of sense of order.
Inside my brain this is the state of things.
The uploading of decisions and questions that may or may not exit my mouth.
The intese feeling of laying down in my bed at night and pondering what the day will bring.
It is sort of the way that you have to work your way out and then get back into it again.
When the whole world finally repairs you want it to break.
Apart and then whole then finally gone.
What more could you want then this confusing state of order and cleanliness.
The sticky reminants of leftover days and nights just the same.
A whole twenty four hours that are based around the life of others and others see nothing but you.
In the eyes of a child you are everything from the start.
The fruit on the tree and the last closing door.
She tends to think she knows the entire world inside and out when she really has no clue.
The black is white and the blue is obviously red.
She sees only grey.
The inbetween that we all just pass by as it is just lies.
That is where she resides and will until she sheds her insecurties that she does not even know exsist.
Unorderly in order and subconciously unaware that the world lives inside of the eyes of these people who have no clue what the time is and are equally unaware of the size of their shoes.
Blips of a telephone ring and the stomach starts to ache.
Lies and misfourtunes mix for bad news.
With fingers that could power an engine I just cannot think forward and my eyes are sitting out for this inning.
I want to reply to your message in the kindest of ways but the nicest thing I could do is never look you in the eye again.
Oddly unattainable but always there right in front of me.
You were my first love and my last love for you ruined the thought of rings and fingers.
My second home town is better then yours.
The B stands for barely even there anymore.
To miss the good ol days is kind of an understament and a lie rolled into one.
Miss the lifestyle but hate the side effects.
The untimely result of too much money wasted and not enough brain cells used up.
All the fun times are wasted when you think about all the times you lay unaware you are alive and you could not even add ones together.
All that made sense was the stars and the way that her hair looked infront of her face.
Peculiar how unhappy I am after the withdrawl.
Cannot even look in the mirror without fading into a past that never exsisted.
The clock is talking to me in beeps and bleeps and the result is eat an apple.
All the good vowels were taken hostage in the war and never even got to see the light of day.
She apologizes eighteen times to the phone that cannot hear her.
You should hear the things that her wall has.
The past nine years in one blue room that started off white, but there is only so many tales white walls can take.
So many stories live in between that room and the hallways behind it.
They store away and talk amongst themselves and at two fifteen in the morning when she lays down to attempt to sleep she is reminded of the way that she can cry and the way that she can lie to herself and to the one that has put his faith into her.
Look up at the item that holds his hair back on her wall like a trophy.
Aren't you proud?
The grey has turned into a problem as it was thought to have faded but has been making house calls in the midst of the day.
The battery behind her back is telling her to stay and she cannot even look in his eyes without feeling a slight sense of regret.
And by slight we mean atrocious.
He reminds her of what the sun should feel like and what she should look like.
Ten numbers that range from one to nine.
Dialing has become a task that involves quite the headache.
Eleven days almost ten until freedom and prison attack all at the same time.
All the older kids will take off to their older schools.
It is silly because she is the same age but two years behind.
Feel the need to feed the urge to substitute your mind for memories.
I am most certain you would live there for the rest of your life if it were possible.
Quite content with never having to face the real world again.
Jump into what we like to call the real world.
With real voices and eyes and real judgmental assholes that think they can put you into line.
You can lie and cheat until your last day but how will you feel at the end of that.
Words seem to effect the insides of peoples outsides and the interior of there minds.
Unclear about the width of your right middle finger.
Measurement could save the world.
As we circle back around to the girl again we close the thoughts with a few lines.
The walls know her whole life.
The headphones are what kept her here so long.
The edgy feeling that she is not very important but cannot think of anyone more real then her tears her from right to left with a case of up and down from time to time.
She is stuck between two as most people are.
She loves what he is and she holds on to what he used to be.
One is truthful and real.
The other is a false miracle of what she really want but really isn't.
Confused little girl with a pink sparkly dress on her mind is in two places.
With the same sign in both places she is so unaware that she is ruining the one that matters and just adding to the abomination by participating with him.
Something's gotta happen.

Description
Piles of words toppled on top of each other in the most mixed match sort of sense of order.
Inside my brain this is the state of things.
The uploading of decisions and questions that may or may not exit my mouth.
The intese feeling of laying down in my bed at night and pondering what the day will bring.
It is sort of the way that you have to work your way out and then get back into it again.
When the whole world finally repairs you want it to break.
Apart and then whole then finally gone.
What more could you want then this confusing state of order and cleanliness.
The sticky reminants of leftover days and nights just the same.
A whole twenty four hours that are based around the life of others and others see nothing but you.
In the eyes of a child you are everything from the start.
The fruit on the tree and the last closing door.
She tends to think she knows the entire world inside and out when she really has no clue.
The black is white and the blue is obviously red.
She sees only grey.
The inbetween that we all just pass by as it is just lies.
That is where she resides and will until she sheds her insecurties that she does not even know exsist.
Unorderly in order and subconciously unaware that the world lives inside of the eyes of these people who have no clue what the time is and are equally unaware of the size of their shoes.
Blips of a telephone ring and the stomach starts to ache.
Lies and misfourtunes mix for bad news.
With fingers that could power an engine I just cannot think forward and my eyes are sitting out for this inning.
I want to reply to your message in the kindest of ways but the nicest thing I could do is never look you in the eye again.
Oddly unattainable but always there right in front of me.
You were my first love and my last love for you ruined the thought of rings and fingers.
My second home town is better then yours.
The B stands for barely even there anymore.
To miss the good ol days is kind of an understament and a lie rolled into one.
Miss the lifestyle but hate the side effects.
The untimely result of too much money wasted and not enough brain cells used up.
All the fun times are wasted when you think about all the times you lay unaware you are alive and you could not even add ones together.
All that made sense was the stars and the way that her hair looked infront of her face.
Peculiar how unhappy I am after the withdrawl.
Cannot even look in the mirror without fading into a past that never exsisted.
The clock is talking to me in beeps and bleeps and the result is eat an apple.
All the good vowels were taken hostage in the war and never even got to see the light of day.
She apologizes eighteen times to the phone that cannot hear her.
You should hear the things that her wall has.
The past nine years in one blue room that started off white, but there is only so many tales white walls can take.
So many stories live in between that room and the hallways behind it.
They store away and talk amongst themselves and at two fifteen in the morning when she lays down to attempt to sleep she is reminded of the way that she can cry and the way that she can lie to herself and to the one that has put his faith into her.
Look up at the item that holds his hair back on her wall like a trophy.
Aren't you proud?
The grey has turned into a problem as it was thought to have faded but has been making house calls in the midst of the day.
The battery behind her back is telling her to stay and she cannot even look in his eyes without feeling a slight sense of regret.
And by slight we mean atrocious.
He reminds her of what the sun should feel like and what she should look like.
Ten numbers that range from one to nine.
Dialing has become a task that involves quite the headache.
Eleven days almost ten until freedom and prison attack all at the same time.
All the older kids will take off to their older schools.
It is silly because she is the same age but two years behind.
Feel the need to feed the urge to substitute your mind for memories.
I am most certain you would live there for the rest of your life if it were possible.
Quite content with never having to face the real world again.
Jump into what we like to call the real world.
With real voices and eyes and real judgmental assholes that think they can put you into line.
You can lie and cheat until your last day but how will you feel at the end of that.
Words seem to effect the insides of peoples outsides and the interior of there minds.
Unclear about the width of your right middle finger.
Measurement could save the world.
As we circle back around to the girl again we close the thoughts with a few lines.
The walls know her whole life.
The headphones are what kept her here so long.
The edgy feeling that she is not very important but cannot think of anyone more real then her tears her from right to left with a case of up and down from time to time.
She is stuck between two as most people are.
She loves what he is and she holds on to what he used to be.
One is truthful and real.
The other is a false miracle of what she really want but really isn't.
Confused little girl with a pink sparkly dress on her mind is in two places.
With the same sign in both places she is so unaware that she is ruining the one that matters and just adding to the abomination by participating with him.
Something's gotta happen.