Everyday is always the same

Drifting far, zoning out

As I'm clocking in

These pointless season change

Fast, feels like infinitely long

I changed everyone has, it never ever felt like it

This purple box caves in smaller,

My head full of satins children plotting mass hysteria

Filling my head with politics and crime

The tighter the box gets, I cradle myself for it to all go away,

I bleed away the time Wasting it on

Bullshit media, fascination of the web, I still feel alone despite

Being so connected to All zero of my friends, I gave all my fears away, fire inside my lungs, darkness covers me like cancer, I know I have it, others don't

Positively impacted with the white stage mask, no questions no problem

If they knew this pain they wouldn't be so god damn full of themselves, insecurities inspire massacres of the mind, We all got them, we deny them, I feel unwanted and forgotten,

Being a white penile on a white canvas is a little amusing, people abuse that factor, I banter at them cause they glow of happiness,

For sadness is creativity from deep in the soul an mind, burning people only know the outer layer of pain, they smile, I frown I show this outer Pain and speak the inner suffering

The pain grows fast like a storm, I just have not found my umbrella or sunshine, I'm the sponge I absorb this negativity, I turn it into creativity, this is my pain, drains me from life, It's never been okay, I just accepted the fact that my body aches and screams to be seen, to be felt of this pain, maybe just to be mended into a happier me.

This is such a suffocating purple box,

With a small window beholding an ugly truth,

And a huge door that I don't like to open, this box drains me dry from any emotion, Alone and quiet in this purple box, smothering me in my own thoughts, I drowned in these thoughts every night whilst the dark nights grow into light mornings, Television shows replay and the time is set on rewind, I see the same numbers multiple times for 24. Hours, It's like inside my mind is screaming but no one on the outside hears the suffocating sound, my life is on rewind, why can't things every change?

This purple box is small, on the outside is a falling sky I'm trapped here, I just want to go home, that destination is at an unreachable spot , these tears in my head are ready to fall,

The devil is in charge in this box, I want to go home right now, all I can breathe is this nuclear air, I miss my past life, my life where people understood, now everything is broken in this purple box.

I got this cage growing in pain,

The vines from the roses deform around the bars

Tightly making me gasp for what's left of air,

The tighter it grabs at my ribs the less my heart beats

Bars on this cage is breaking in two, on the outside no one

Can guess this pain inside, the pain implodes inside my head like the top of the rose blooming, just the pain of it all is so hard to hide, I got this cage crumbling down from pain, The pain I gained from the rose vines inside, the loss of breath is from the needles

On the vine poking hole's through my lungs, twisting around

My spine from head to toe, for I am the only one who see's this pain, for I'm the only one to feel this suffering inside,

Critically judged by the tears, I hold them in, I hold them strong,

This pain can not be mended, its immensely tender,

This cage is my body aching from all sorrow, This vine

Is the lies being feed into my head, this blooming rose is the insanity I can only see an feel.

Its a boxed up mess full of dark superior,

Society said I should get help for this

Box of insanity, it was like a rose bush

It grew so bright inside my head it fed me with the color

Then the thorns grew down right in the middle of my chest,

Crushing all my moving organs, the flower took its mask of revealing its dark side, my insanity.

Time clocking in and out,

I know better for what the past

Has mocked me for,

And if for one minute more I

Had to watch the past

Rip me up like some used up beating

Bag, For not I am no super hero,

This past is my future behold a strong beginning

For now, this lust of yesteryear will hold

Me down with ties and pins, hard to escape

This ruined generation without getting hurt.

This Earth is not the most beneficial to me, I do the same damn thing everyday. I feel the addiction of life at the tips of my cold fingers, but it’s like I am not seeing the full picture of what life truly is; I’ve drowned out the truth for so long and the demons inside my head lie to me as if I live in some fascinating make believe world full of wonder and teen lust. Although the wonder would really just be the secrets our parents keep from us as young children until we get into our “crazy run my parents wild teenage years” and figure out the “wonders” without any thought of the long term repercussions.

The sun beams down through the narrow slits in the curtain as the sound of a fake alarm clock from my phone scares me up with a tiny heart attack. I move to the side of my bed and graze my pale finger tips on the grey sheets, my feet flat on the white used up carpet still having the tingly pins and needle feel to them I open my eyes still blurry from the four hours I slept. I know that normal American parents and teachers say Children should get at least eight hours of sleep,but how the hell am I suppose to achieve that when I wake up at five in the morning when the world in still dead just to go to a place for eight hours with snobby, judgmental, low life’s then come home with bags full of tiredness and stress placed under my brown eyes, then eat a quick snack before I doze off into dreamland which is basically my escape from all the pain inside my head, when I wake up I do most of my homework not promising all,Maybe just maybe be lucky to get to bed my 1 AM for the next five days. That’s basically my life.

I don’t fit in, but I don’t stand out I just go with the crowd It’s like school is a stage because we are all just pretending to be something we’re not with white smiling mask. Only I truly see the real identity’s also I see things for what they are most of the time it can become brutal. The “popular Jockeys” I mean the cheerleaders, poms, basketball players, track, football and wrestling you know the rest at home they’re not as perfect as they seem in reality they have a strict diet, constantly have to workout an practice, lack of sleep, barely any social time. Sports aren’t my thing people think that when I tell them that its because I am lazy, but it’s not like that it’s just I don’t like being publicly humiliated in front of school mates. There is also the theater, band, poets, and news paper kids They are still important and academically involved, but secretly they feel not good enough in there clichés and some what stays home during Friday nights finding other ways to not be themselves to be critically excepted, as for this kind of group I don’t get involved with either I do not prefer entertaining people I dislike besides I’m a writer not a performer. I’m just not the labeled one I keep to myself I purposely don’t have friends for the lack of social drama, I don’t wear a mask I frown like someone died for I am a depressed enthusiasts.

I have always done my own thing just in a way where It hits people like a mist of rain instead of hitting them so hard with my insanity like a brick wall fell on top of them. My parents always stood by my insane ways they accepted me as human, most people never did they just oddly looked at me like I was the awkward line drawn outside of the picture in the coloring book even though I felt like the white line on a white canvas surrounded my rainbows of plastic smothered in unwelcoming smiles. It’s like I was born with Angel eyes I see things for its true self and all of the truthful things that people try so awfully hard to hide even though each flaw is more beautiful then the cover up. I try to give myself lies and excuses why I shouldn’t be so cynical about life, but its all just the awful truth being told to sinful liars.

This life full of sinful lie’s depressed me. My angel wing’s are invisible, but I know they’re there because I was meant to be here to be the one to see the truth and see what this world has shaped into. Once a beautiful society formed of a not equally or the same place turned into a massacre of our own feeling’s just so we could please other’s who don’t even remember our name’s. I know it’s a little over the top, but this what the Angel eye’s see the mass hysteria all around and the sorrow post on social media, I never asked to come here in a hopefulness this wounded generation doesn’t give the wrong impression on the next. Love is our weapon we use this for protection and that is why my wings are invisible because people would abuse that like they do to rich people or giving people it’s just a humans way of self abuse it’s like we get the vibe that being extra kind will be an excuse for people to use it up, but we want to spread that kindness around even though that kindness only goes so far. Sometimes it’s a battle sometimes it’s a war, but we all know what we are looking for in the end we get out of the darkness with some wounds and great story’s. In all we are just a sack of bones trying to make some point as to why we are here until we die. This life is pointless walking around for surviving the harsh ways of others. Life is giving life your own meaning. All angels have wings and sinful lies to tell.

This Earth is not the most beneficial to me, I do the same damn thing everyday. I feel the addiction of life at the tips of my cold fingers, but it's like I am not seeing the full picture of what life truly is; I've drowned out the truth for so long and the demons inside my head lie to me as if I live in some fascinating make believe world full of wonder and teen lust. Although the wonder would really just be the secrets our parents keep from us as young children until we get into our "crazy run my parents wild teenage years" and figure out the "wonders" without any thought of the long term repercussions.

The sun beams down through the narrow slits in the curtain as the sound of a fake alarm clock from my phone scares me up with a tiny heart attack. I move to the side of my bed and graze my pale finger tips on the grey sheets, my feet flat on the white used up carpet still having the tingly pins and needle feel to them I open my eyes still blurry from the four hours I slept. I know that normal American parents and teachers say Children should get at least eight hours of sleep,but how the hell am I suppose to achieve that when I wake up at five in the morning when the world in still dead just to go to a place for eight hours with snobby, judgmental, low life's then come home with bags full of tiredness and stress placed under my brown eyes, then eat a quick snack before I doze off into dreamland which is basically my escape from all the pain inside my head, when I wake up I do most of my homework not promising all,Maybe just maybe be lucky to get to bed my 1 AM for the next five days. That's basically my life.

I don't fit in, but I don't stand out I just go with the crowd It's like school is a stage because we are all just pretending to be something we're not with white smiling mask. Only I truly see the real identity's also I see things for what they are most of the time it can become brutal. The "popular Jockeys" I mean the cheerleaders, poms, basketball players, track, football and wrestling you know the rest at home they're not as perfect as they seem in reality they have a strict diet, constantly have to workout an practice, lack of sleep, barely any social time. Sports aren't my thing people think that when I tell them that its because I am lazy, but it's not like that it's just I don't like being publicly humiliated in front of school mates. There is also the theater, band, poets, and news paper kids They are still important and academically involved, but secretly they feel not good enough in there clichés and some what stays home during Friday nights finding other ways to not be themselves to be critically excepted, as for this kind of group I don't get involved with either I do not prefer entertaining people I dislike besides I'm a writer not a performer. I'm just not the labeled one I keep to myself I purposely don't have friends for the lack of social drama, I don't wear a mask I frown like someone died for I am a depressed enthusiasts.

I have always done my own thing just in a way where It hits people like a mist of rain instead of hitting them so hard with my insanity like a brick wall fell on top of them. My parents always stood by my insane ways they accepted me as human, most people never did they just oddly looked at me like I was the awkward line drawn outside of the picture in the coloring book even though I felt like the white line on a white canvas surrounded my rainbows of plastic smothered in unwelcoming smiles. It's like I was born with Angel eyes I see things for its true self and all of the truthful things that people try so awfully hard to hide even though each flaw is more beautiful then the cover up. I try to give myself lies and excuses why I shouldn't be so cynical about life, but its all just the awful truth being told to sinful liars.

This life full of sinful lie's depressed me. My angel wing's are invisible, but I know they're there because I was meant to be here to be the one to see the truth and see what this world has shaped into. Once a beautiful society formed of a not equally or the same place turned into a massacre of our own feeling's just so we could please other's who don't even remember our name's. I know it's a little over the top, but this what the Angel eye's see the mass hysteria all around and the sorrow post on social media, I never asked to come here in a hopefulness this wounded generation doesn't give the wrong impression on the next. Love is our weapon we use this for protection and that is why my wings are invisible because people would abuse that like they do to rich people or giving people it's just a humans way of self abuse it's like we get the vibe that being extra kind will be an excuse for people to use it up, but we want to spread that kindness around even though that kindness only goes so far. Sometimes it's a battle sometimes it's a war, but we all know what we are looking for in the end we get out of the darkness with some wounds and great story's. All angels have wings and sinful lies to tell.