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Description
The thought to be anyone important. To get ahead at all in this life in your situation is to be an alcoholic nut case or a drug addict of the impressive kind. The walls should be colorful and the world just drab. The friends are non existent and the family was never there. The doors are all closed as far as you’re concerned. The only way out is to put all your thoughts on canvas. The form all your words with a pen. To have as much heartache and sadness as possible to make it interesting to know. The weeks past and the hard times are over and you no longer have the life you once had. The stories you want to tell and the hurt you want to convey is gone and in a sick way you miss it, you want it back so you can make something beautiful. Hard to work with what you have. The soundtrack of your work is the only thing that gives you hope. The only thing that lets you believe that maybe just maybe you will be able to put something into words that is interesting again. Something that might make someone interested in you. Again. As it is you have not been able to create in years and the thought of that’s depressing. But not depressing enough to force something out of you. Something that when the day is over you are proud of. Something you can be happy you created. The sound of that train is enough to bring it all back. The days spent in basements with inks and paints and other wonderful things that made you everything that you are today. The unbearable psychosis that spawned a thousand grateful words. Stop taking the drugs that have made this all go away. Blame the drugs and then there may be a solution when we all know that is not the case. No matter how much we want it we cant just go back running down that road. With the best thing gone and the pain remotely there, you are fucked. Running out of options and we are running out of breathe. The end is not near it can not be near. You are so young. The colors have dripped out of your finger tips for the last time it feels. You are no more special then the ones beside you and you are most certainly no more special then the ones behind you. I don’t think you are lacking a passion that you once had but it most certainly has gone somewhere. The need is no longer there. The chimes have stopped ringing. You’re hair has grown back. Its all one color. Boring. Your clothes are the right size and your friends are all employed. Babies and houses. Normal things. The chaos has died down. At such a young age the whole world changed. you have lost all your friends and all your reasons to be the person you set out to be. The only thing that is taking you ahead is the want to not fail but what more is there then that. What more could there be?

Description
The thought to be anyone important. To get ahead at all in this life in your situation is to be an alcoholic nut case or a drug addict of the impressive kind. The walls should be colorful and the world just drab. The friends are non existent and the family was never there. The doors are all closed as far as you’re concerned. The only way out is to put all your thoughts on canvas. The form all your words with a pen. To have as much heartache and sadness as possible to make it interesting to know. The weeks past and the hard times are over and you no longer have the life you once had. The stories you want to tell and the hurt you want to convey is gone and in a sick way you miss it, you want it back so you can make something beautiful. Hard to work with what you have. The soundtrack of your work is the only thing that gives you hope. The only thing that lets you believe that maybe just maybe you will be able to put something into words that is interesting again. Something that might make someone interested in you. Again. As it is you have not been able to create in years and the thought of that’s depressing. But not depressing enough to force something out of you. Something that when the day is over you are proud of. Something you can be happy you created. The sound of that train is enough to bring it all back. The days spent in basements with inks and paints and other wonderful things that made you everything that you are today. The unbearable psychosis that spawned a thousand grateful words. Stop taking the drugs that have made this all go away. Blame the drugs and then there may be a solution when we all know that is not the case. No matter how much we want it we cant just go back running down that road. With the best thing gone and the pain remotely there, you are fucked. Running out of options and we are running out of breathe. The end is not near it can not be near. You are so young. The colors have dripped out of your finger tips for the last time it feels. You are no more special then the ones beside you and you are most certainly no more special then the ones behind you. I don’t think you are lacking a passion that you once had but it most certainly has gone somewhere. The need is no longer there. The chimes have stopped ringing. You’re hair has grown back. Its all one color. Boring. Your clothes are the right size and your friends are all employed. Babies and houses. Normal things. The chaos has died down. At such a young age the whole world changed. you have lost all your friends and all your reasons to be the person you set out to be. The only thing that is taking you ahead is the want to not fail but what more is there then that. What more could there be?