Sometimes I get so angry I just want to punch my fist through a wall.
Through some glass and watch it shatter, the blood down my arms and all over the wall.
The words, the pictures, the meanings slip through my fingers.
I try to hold on to my life and what I'm feeling but time keeps slipping to the future.
I lose control wondering why I never accomplish what I set out to do.
I never wanted to be a martyr, bleeding from my handmade cross.
Showing off scars to prove I feel pain, sometimes I just want to fuck it all.
The nights, the pictures, the lights. They come and go.
At the end of the night I always find myself alone with my thought, fears, desires.
Nothing's changed.
For a brief point in time I was happy, but it was all just rearranged.
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