Streets Tonight (not Finished)

To be honest I can't write
Sitting up all night near my damp light
Trying put words in sentences
I know I didn't invent this shit, but I need to vent it quick
Or am going to lose my head, skull fragments all over my bed
Because that's where I lost it, trying to think Deep
for my imaginary place I could be
So I can set sail care-free, but life is aware of me
So much bullshit during the week, Trying so hard to keep my composure
Lost all my closure, so this path I walk on is me just loitering
Exploring things trying to figure out who I am as a human being
My mind is gears and I'm losing springs
I'm awfully weak, climbing a cold endless mountain where they told me it has a tropical peak
They lied to me, no surprise really,
The inner fires building,
And I'm not willing to put it out, done it so many fucking times
Over these sucky rhymes, no ears to hear me
No eyes to see clearly whats killing my soul
Its okay though that's why I stay cold
I'm ignored so I force wars, more irritating then cold sores
And I dont really want more to do anything
That has apart with writing everything
If I have a talent then thats to bad
Bagged malice and through away my pen and pad


I smoke to many cigarettes to fear death
I'm never clear yet, I'm either stressed or depressed
I dont know which, no time at all to try to solve it