I am not perfect,
No, I'm too low.
Burned images of my victiories,
Lined in a row.
Hide within my nightmares,
Run from old hope,
My mind's tied together,
With a bit of old rope.
Creeks so warm and shallow,
Become rivers cold and deep,
Death has no time for me,
He has other souls to reap.
Insanity is no illness,
It's a way of life,
Because with madness in your head,
You won't fear the knife,
Death is coming,
But it's not so bad,
Just so long as it's a life,
You never knew you had.
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As my pen glides along I can't help but think, that my soul is bleeding out in shining black ink.
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