Work In Progress

This is how it feels to have your bedroom painted over
To see the grinning faces crumble at your feet
Wanting something more than the luck from a clover
A perfect feeling that doesn't reak of conceit
Moments when you knew that you had friends waiting
To hold you up against the weight of the world
Crashing down upon all the insecurites worth hating
Tearing away at phobias left rotten and curled
Into dreams where you can't seem to find the end
Without taking it away just for the thrill
Or giving a loving sentiment to a beautiful friend
Without the dull influence of a bitter pill
This is what it means to become a lifeless soul
To be deprived of every comforting emotion
Never knowing the result of a childhood goal
Or the satisfaction of heeding a future notion
As benevolent desires turn to copious terrors
Our human existence fades to condition
And all the answers gently sway into errors
Like counting stock on a limited edition
I've come to see that stories will never cease
Just as the thoughts that bred them stay
As cliffhanger conclusions give no release
To what is beyond this I cannot say