Cross legged, head tilted to the ceiling
Eyes begging to reveal what I am feeling
I can not scribe
These knots inside
I cant describe
So in a vial
Blood, sweat, and tears reside
Examine it and you will find
A panic that is amplified
Rampant when I can not hide
Filtered in a fake smile
A visage that is passive
Like a brush flirting with paint
Then stroke against the canvas
Til the pressure make it break
Splattering in madness
No emotion in the face
Evoke a silent rage
Filled with humble distaste
In truth I see you
When I look up to this moon
Of a ceiling that I have
Noticing you looking back
With my pen in your hand
Burning through paper with sand
Like friction, on the page
A conviction so untamed
And together we will paint
One story that is named...
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