I'm tryin' so hard,
To find the words,
To create a rhyme,
Like them rappers do.

It ain't easy,
And it sure needs skill,
To put together a phrase that kills.

I'm doin' it to relax,
To find peace,
To search within,
But why isn't it working?

Maybe I should try mutilation,
Suicide seems ideal,
But what hurts the most,
Digs deep down below.

My heart's crying out,
It needs a king,
Of solemness,
It seeks a death wish.


I've tried too long to be oblivious, to be unnoticed, to be a John Doe, to be without sin.

I seriously need Internet Access at home again. And PP's a fucking killer. And all I can whine to and feel nuetral about it is blogger. How silly is that..

I am the host of my equilibrium,
One forsaken by trust,
One dwelling not in the mellows of time,
But one;
Losing balance.


I am the host of mediocrity,
Dismissed by ennui,
Disgraced by a perplexed faces,
But never disowned.


I am the host of insanity,
Not of derangement,
Not of psychological instability,
But of this equilibrium;
This mediocrity…
Tilting off; losing control.

powerpills.