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| THE USED |
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| maybe memories the taste of ink bulimic say days ago poetic tragedy buried myself alive a box full of sharop objects blue and yellow greener with the scenery noise & kisses on my own pieces mended |
| POETIC TRADEY the cup is not half empty as pescirnists say as far as he's sees nothing left in the cup a whole cup full of nothing for him to induldge since the voice of ambition has long since been shut up a singer, a writer, he's not dreaming now of going nowhere he gave heed to nothing, and all that he was is just a tragedy so he voyages in circles succeeds getting nowhere and submits to the substance that first got him there that in violent, frustrationg he cried out to God or just no one is there a point to this madness and all that he was.... is just a tragedy he feels alone his heart in his hand he's alone he feels alone i feel.... then on that last day he breaks and he stood tall and he yelled... and he takes his life |