My name is Harrow, my heart's lame, and my soul's narrow
My mind's an arrow, I try to aim, but I hit no sparrow
That's how my rivals, bypass my flame, with wings of parrots
I can't see their arrival, my sight's to blame, for I eat no carrots
I never reach their level, the storm is back, and my ship's hollow
I feel am a devil, my thoughts are dark, for my tedious follow
Am lent some shoes, I get a grip, though I hate to borrow
I am lost.
I was broken long ago.
Tried to fix myself but I don't know
How much is me
And how much is the seeds
Planted in my memories,
A darkness hidden deep.
So push me down
To the ground,
A whisper in 'your mind' you hear,
Is telling you to run and go ahead,
There is a lot of future for you and your friend.
Gently cover your fake smile,
Say hello to the new day,
Who is he and why is here,
Walking through those shiny streets,
Pretty face full of fear.
Can you recognise the man in your handmade shoes?
A whisper in 'your heart' you hear,
I am kind of this perpetually tired
Sack of flour
I’ve been staring at the walls for hours
All I am full of is nothing
And it sounds pretty dramatic
But when i’m fulfilled, there’s no room for sadness
There’s no madness
I feel fine (if fine is the absence of anything)
I feel tired
All the time
Someone there is at it,
That likes the very bit,
Scorning all for flattery,
Or as is at, for some treat,
To the very end of the initial start.
Something there is that shows,
Outgrown and visible on no hearts,
Flattery like, mouthing out for bites,
Or as it be, for same reasons as hers,
I'm nobody, who are you?
You're somebody you say, is that true?
Well I can't be somebody, they say it's not so.
I am nobody and that's all I know.
Well yes, I AM me, but that's all that I've got.
Still a somebody I am not.
I can't deny what they say I am--
I am too big for my body.
The echos of once forgotten voices bicker and plead in my mind,
once dead but now alive inside of me.
The full spectrum of life--
with its compounding complexities and relentless emotion--
rages against me like a storm,
coloring the world around me;
Here, the walls are painted with melancholy,
the floors littered with shedded skin.
My anger provides the light;
I am everything I say I am,
and everything I'm not.
My peaks grow high into the sky
while my valleys fill with rot.
My dark eclipses my light
as my inner world expands.
I am everything I don't want to be,
and everything I am.
Sometimes without purpose
Suppose on the surface
My mind looks like a circus
Inside the golden tent
There is a silence so nervous